


That Good Night

by my_silent_hour



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-20
Updated: 2011-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 19:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 67,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_silent_hour/pseuds/my_silent_hour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>I did not go gently. I fought, and I fought hard. I fought for Tommy, too. I fought until I figured out just what I was fighting for. And when I figured that out… well, that’s when I decided that perhaps gently was the best way to go after all.  </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> Go [ here](http://rude-bunny.livejournal.com/15705.html) to see Rude_Bunny's amazing artwork for this fic!
> 
>  
> 
> The awesomely talented @equixen also made a video for this fic. (Careful, it has spoilers!!!) Go [ here](http://youtu.be/OVOUtbDGJ8Y) to see it!

_They say that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes like some kind of silent movie on warp speed, flying by at a ridiculous pace. Some think that you go through a tunnel of light and end up on the other side, whatever that other side might be. Some say you arrive at pearly gates on a cloud while some saint or angel or something judges the choices you made in life. Some say there’s nothing after, that it’s just an expanse of nothingness and all your conscious thoughts cease._

 _None of that happened to me. I haven’t seen a tunnel or pearly gates, at least not yet. And my life didn’t flash before my eyes. Not the whole thing, anyways. It was more like the end of that Kevin Spacey movie. You know, the one with all the roses? American Beauty, yeah. He kept seeing his wife’s face over and over as life slipped away from him. That’s how it was for me, a nice highlight reel. A greatest hits kind of thing. I saw my parents, my brother, and a few old boyfriends. I saw nameless faces in huge crowds as I sang. I saw my band and my dancers and all the people I’ve come to consider family over these last few months. And I saw Tommy._

 _Beautiful, loving Tommy, who held my hand even though he must have been having the same kind of strange flashbacks. Tommy, who, I learned, I’d give anything for. Even my life._

 _We read a poem once in high school that began, “Do not go gentle into that good night.” I don’t remember any more than that line, and I don’t know who wrote it. Probably Browning. Seems like the answer is always Browning. But anyway, I remember thinking that there was no way I would ever just surrender to death, that I would never give up and I would live forever if I could. I imagined myself like a knight fighting a horrible dragon, valiantly forging on even when I was weak or wounded, fighting even when the battle was futile._

 _I did not go gently. I fought, and I fought hard. I fought for Tommy, too. I fought until I figured out just what I was fighting for. And when I figured that out… well, that’s when I decided that perhaps gently was the best way to go after all._

 _*_

 _The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round…_

There’s no better sleep than bus sleep. I discovered this about myself years ago in Germany. Up until that stint in Hair, I’d slept in cars, trains, planes, and even a cruise ship, but none of those could match the gentle rock and rumble of a tour bus. Maybe because the bus is lower to the ground and not on the smooth rails of a train, or maybe because the vibrations of the road are constant no matter what the speed, I don’t know. But from my first night on tour I knew: I was made to sleep in a bus.

            Hell, I’m pretty much made for touring. Back on the Idol tour, I figured out just how much my voice could take, and it could take a hell of a lot more than everybody else’s. Sure, I’d spent years training it and building muscle in my throat like a wrestler builds up his arms, but I didn’t expect to be the only one who could manage to sing hungover, or with a cold, or after eating ice cream. And I really didn’t get why the others lost their voices after a week straight of concerts. I’d never be able to manage Glam Nation like that. Not with the songs I sing. They’re fucking hard, and high, and if I’m not wailing them out, what good is it? Nah, I get out there on stage every night and push my voice and push myself and the show is always good, and I haven’t lost my voice yet.

            And yeah, I’m pretty smug about that.

            So because I sleep like the dead on the bus, I usually sleep until way past the time when the rest of the occupants are awake and going through their morning routines. Usually there’s a lot of Twitter checking and some banter about how rough everyone looks first thing in the morning. On the good mornings, there’s coffee from an actual coffee-making establishment instead of the instant crap we keep on the bus. Eventually the buses come to a stop some time before noon and my band hops on my bus and Lane gives us the daily briefing, threatening our lives if we don’t abide by her impossible schedule. When she finally shuts up, we can eat, be it at Denny’s or a gas station convenience store.

            Sometimes it’s Terrance who wakes me before Lane gets in. Sometimes, if he’s too fascinated by his at replies on Twitter, it’s Monte.

            Twitter must be rather scandalous today because it’s Monte who shakes me out of dreamland and says with affection, “Get your ass up, Lambert. Fucking diva, sleeping until eleven…”

            I chuckle at that because I know, and Monte knows, that it couldn’t be any further from the truth. I’d like to think so, anyway. I don’t have tantrums, at least I don’t that often, and I’m good to the crew and all of my employees. I know all their names and their kids’ birthdays, and I’m always the first to tell someone to take a day off if they’re looking sick. Well, unless Monte does it first.

            Because yeah, there’s no Glam Nation without me, but there’s no _me_ without Monte. He’s better than my mother, my doctor, my nutritionist, and my therapist combined.

            “I’m a big rock star now,” I mumble and turn over on my stomach. I do this not for the insolent effect, but because it means I’ve exposed my bare ass to Monte, which hurries him the hell out of the room. “Not getting up.”

            “Then _you_ deal with Lane, rock star,” he says before shutting the door to my lair behind himself.

            I’m grinning as I pull myself away from my warm bed and tug on a pair of sweatpants and my Queen t-shirt. When I open the door, most of my Glamily is already seated, waiting on Lane. Monte and Isaac are at the little table by the fridge, heads leaned together, probably discussing something business-like and musical. Sasha, Brooke, and Cam sit next to each other on what we’ve decided to call the couch, though it’s really just a padded bench built into the side of the bus. Taylor’s sprawled across them, laughing as they try to push him to the floor. Terrance is as far away from them as he can possibly be and he’s rolling his eyes while scrolling through Twitter on his phone.

            Which means we’re missing Tommy.

            I look to Monte in question and he knows what’s on my mind. He mouths, “Allison’s bus,” and it’s all the answer I need. He and Liz have been looking friendly lately and…why not, you know? Most of the other girls on tour aren’t exactly interested in persons of the male persuasion, and she’s cute. She might be a little too Christian for him, maybe a little too into horses, but whatever. If he goes for that outdoorsy, Republican type, power to him, I guess.

            Monte gives me a pitying little smile and I raise an eyebrow at him because, what the fuck is he giving me that face for, and the bus door opens again. Tommy climbs in, grinning that lopsided grin that always makes him look like he’s asking for a spanking, and plops down next to Terrance. He’s wearing a shirt that I’d bought for him when I was in London, a dark gray vintage-looking thing with the map of the Underground on it. He winks at me, and an electric jolt shoots straight down my spine and on to other far more inappropriate places before I wink back.

            Okay, so maybe I know why Monte gave me that smile. But it’s Tommy, right? Who doesn’t want Tommy? He’s one of the prettiest boys I’ve ever seen, and I’m kind of a pretty boy aficionado, so that’s saying something. And fuck it, I should be allowed to look if I’m never going to be allowed to touch. At least offstage.

            Before I can think of anything witty to say to him, Lane marches onto the bus and begins the briefing without even saying hello. Brunch now, another two hours of travel after, arrival at the venue at four, sound check, dinner at six, makeup at seven, call at eight. Allison, Adam, encore, boom, done. Only a half hour allowed for signing because we’ve got to get back to the hotel to check in before we all pass out or go out, whichever we prefer.

            It’s a hotel night before a day off. There’s no chance in hell I’m going to pass out. I catch Tommy’s eye and we exchange a knowing look and oh yeah, we’re going out tonight. There’s got to be something around…wherever we are…to do.

            “So there’s an IHOP over there and a McDonalds, if you want to go even unhealthier than a stack of pancakes…” Lane motions in the general direction of the restaurants and then starts on her usual instructions to behave, keep our heads down, and get in and out as quickly as possible.

I roll my eyes, grab a pair of sunglasses and baseball cap, and reach for Tommy’s hand. “Pancakes?”

“Fuck yeah,” he says, taking my hand and my offer for help up. He’s light as can be when I pull him from the seat, and a momentary daydream of how it would feel to have that tiny body underneath me passes before I can stop it. I feel heat rising in my cheeks, so I turn to Monte.

“Coming, old man?” Tommy asks him before I get the chance.

Monte pats the bulge of his stomach and smiles. “Of course. Gotta keep this girlish figure somehow. Isaac, you in?”

“Wherever there’s coffee, man,” Isaac responds. I eye him. He hasn’t quite gotten used to the inner workings of the tour yet, not that I can blame him for that. After traveling together for so long, there aren’t many secrets between any of us, and there’s absolutely no room for modesty or bullshit or anything. We’ve all seen each other at our best, but we’ve seen each other at our worst, too, and sometimes that just entitles you to flat out telling someone their breath stinks or picking spinach out of their teeth if they can’t get it themselves. It’s a little weird, sure, and I’m sure it’s a bit intimidating to an newcomer as well.

I give him a smile and follow Tommy outside. The day isn’t as sunny as I’d hoped, but after about a week in Florida it’s hard to judge impartially. It looks like it might rain, really, which means that tonight’s outdoor venue is going to suck.

Tommy loops his arm through mine and my heart gives a dangerously loud beat at the touch. I hear Monte talking to Isaac behind us and I know that he’s explaining our IHOP ritual to the newbie. I look up at the sky at the storm clouds gathering in the distance.

“So, where are we?”

“Canada, I think,” Tommy mumbles and then yawns. He’s probably kidding, but I make a mental note to ask Monte for real later.

I resist the urge to ask Tommy about his night. I focus on tonight instead. “So… clubbing tonight? We can get all glammed up and prettified and split a bottle of Makers. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll land ourselves on Perez tomorrow morning.”

Tommy giggles and, well, Tommy’s voice isn’t exactly melodic when he talks. It’s kind of tinny and sharp, with no resonance whatsoever. The few times I’ve caught him singing I’ve been thankful that Cam does backup vocals for me. But when he’s laughing, I swear on all things holy, that boy makes music.

“Actually, Liz had a great idea…”

Liz. Right. I should have known. I try to widen my smile. “Yeah?”

“Well, it’s the last night of tour and all, so—”

“It’s not the last night!” the entire group chants around us in unison.

We’ve sort of all made a pact that the last concert in the continental United States will be a happy one, a celebration of all the things we’ve done these past few months, not a sad goodbye. It’s also kind of true that it’s not our last, since we’ll be doing the same fucking thing overseas in a few days. But still, the possibility that tonight could turn into a complete sobfest is a real one, so we all took an oath that we weren’t going to cry tonight. At least not before the concert, and definitely not onstage.

“Whatever,” Tommy grumbles, “it’s Ally’s last. No denying that. And since she can’t drink, we thought maybe we’d have our own party. Liz has a good friend that lives up here and they’ve got a cabin a little ways outside of Seattle, so…”

I sniff. “So you’re suggesting we give up our Jacuzzi suites at the hotel and rough it in the wilderness so that we can get Allison boozed up one last time.”

“Excellent plan,” Terrance chimes in and I wonder who asked for his opinion. I’d like to see him find north on a compass, or fight off grizzlies or whatever the hell spending time in the woods involves. I glare at him and he gives me one of his sexy yet infuriating grins back. “What? Come on, it _is_ the last night with her.”

I hum, thinking about it. It would be alright, I guess, to be completely on our own for a night, undisturbed by fans or paps, making the Un-Last Night go on for just a little while longer. “Okay,” I agree, and the whole group lets out a collective sigh of relief. It’s only then that I realize they’ve all been waiting on me for permission, which sucks. Sometimes I hate being the boss.

Everyone’s chosen the IHOP for their brunching needs, and the restaurant is packed, so we have to break up in small groups for seating. I wave to Ally, who’s sitting with Dave and Liz and looks to be halfway through an omelet, probably because her manager doesn’t flap her trap as much as Lane. Liz waves too, and I almost wave back before it dawns on me that she’s waving to Tommy.

I look over at him and he’s gone all red in the face and is shaking his head at her.

“Sit with her if you want,” I say, because perhaps he needs my permission for that too or some shit, but his eyes flick up to me before quickly looking to the floor. It hits me then how hard this must be, that the two of them are finally hooking up and then he’ll be off for months to Asia and the UK and god knows where else. “Seriously,” I prod.

“I want to sit with you,” he says to me and he still can’t bring himself to look at me for some reason, so I roll my eyes and lead him like a child to an empty table.

            I order the Harvest Grain pancakes so that Lane thinks I’m being a good boy, but she doesn’t know about our routine. Tommy gets the blueberry ones and Monte the chocolate chip ones, and it falls on Isaac to order the strawberry banana stack like LP used to do. I momentarily feel bad for him because, really, what if he hates pancakes? But it’s too much of a habit to stop now. Monte must have explained well because he gives me a sly look as he orders and requests extra butter. When the food comes, everyone cuts their stack into equal quarters and we trade around until we all have each of the flavors. It’s all doused appropriately in butter and syrup, and I turn my Harvest Grain portion towards Lane, perfectly blocking the chocolate chip ones.

            Christ I love my band, and I love our routines, and I love that our routines mean that they love me too.

            After a few gallons of coffee, and a few more to go, we’re back on the bus. The mood has shifted, though, because the caffeine’s kicked in and Tommy’s there. He shows up on my bus quite a bit, really. It’s not that he and Monte don’t get along because they’re practically best friends, but I think Tommy is secretly fascinated by the dancers. That’s just my hunch, and I can’t say I blame him. They’re an eccentric bunch and completely entertaining, and they never fail to make Tommy produce that musical laugh of his.

            Today, though, he curls his little body against mine on the couch and leans his head on my shoulder as I do the day’s emailing on my laptop. He makes a small sound of disapproval when I Google myself, and I narrow my eyes at his blond head.

            “What? I’m just making sure Brad hasn’t sold those nude pics to the Enquirer yet.”

            Tommy is not amused. “Ha. A) Brad would never do that, and B) you wouldn’t let anyone take nude photos of you. You’re too fucking self-conscious.”

            I don’t know why, but that stings me a little, and I just might hate that he knows me well enough to speak those truths out loud like that. I stay silent and bring up Twitter on my laptop. My at replies are ridiculous as usual, and I feel Tommy reading over my shoulder and giggling every now and then.

            “Why do you bother checking those?” he asks, even though he knows why. I check for the same reason he checks, cause it’s fucking hilarious. Scary too, but mostly hilarious.

            I point at one with atrocious spelling and far too many exclamation points than the 140 character limit should allow, and we both groan. Yet another fan, asking if Tommy and I are really a couple.

            “I don’t know how I can make ‘Tommy’s straight’ any clearer to them…”

            Tommy pulls away, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Tell them we’re fucking. Just do it, and we can sit back and watch the meltdown.” I snort at that, because I think he might be a little serious. And he rolls his eyes. “Come on, it’s the last concert. Have a little fun.”

            “It’s not—”

            “It is, Adam. You know it is.”

            It is. It feels like the last. And it would be great to go out with a bang, so to speak. But I can’t tell the fans that, even as a joke, because telling that lie reminds me just how untrue it is.

Tommy looks at me, his eyes all soft and big, and I have just enough willpower left in me to say, “Let’s keep it about the music tonight,” and that’s that.

            Fifteen minutes later, he’s asleep on my shoulder and I’m trying to figure out why typing out that lie would have been such a big deal.

 

*

 

            My brother is probably the best roadie I’ve ever seen. I don’t even know if he’s aware of his natural-born talent for this, but it’s truly a gift. After only a few days of watching the other guys, he jumped in and started to work. He sort of gives the orders now and keeps everything organized and picks up slack whenever someone can’t pull their own weight.

            I watch him go through the procedure for setup with a little pride and no small amount of awe. I know he wants to write for a living, and I have no doubt that one day he’ll be reviewing my concerts instead of lifting amplifiers for them, but still. I don’t think he’s exactly wasting his talent doing this. He’ll have a great resume when this thing is all over, which will land him that writing job.

            He catches my eye as I watch from a seat in the fourth row and nods, and my chest feels a bit warm. My advice to anyone going on tour? Well, besides sleeping a lot on buses, I’d say bring along a family member. When you start to think you actually _are_ a rock god, they’ll be there to remind you that you once wore Tweety Bird footed pajamas with a butt flap for six weeks straight or that you had the world’s biggest zit on prom night.

            Also, it’s great to have someone around who loves you no matter what. Yeah. That’s really great to have.

            Neil stands beside me and hands me a cup of tea. I’m not sure who told him because it wasn’t me, but he picked up in about the second week of the tour that I don’t drink anything but hot herbal tea after 3pm on concert days. Maybe he just figured it out on his own. He’s intuitive like that. Yet another reason why he’s the best roadie ever.

            I take a sip and smile. Chamomile with tons of honey.

            “So Mom’s birthday’s coming up.”

            I nod. “We’ll be in London that week. We could celebrate the day before we leave, or even better, when we get back.”

            “Or…” Neil begins in that tone that tells me he disapproves of my offering. “We could fly back for a day and surprise her.”

            “From London?” I ask, incredulous. “That’s like, an eight hour flight, Neil.”

            “It’s _Mom,_ Adam.”

            He’s right. It is Mom, and every year since Dad moved out we’ve made it a point to take her to a really fancy restaurant, eat dessert first, and split a few bottles of champagne. Dad always did that for her, and if Eber didn’t have that insufferable pride, he’d still be doing it. It means the world to her; I haven’t let myself think about how not being there on the actual day will make her feel. What I’m suggesting is a good compromise, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’ll be alone on her birthday.

            “I am aware that we are talking about our mother,” I say, huffing. “But these dates aren’t really something I can change. You know I haven’t quite caught on in the UK like I need to. This could be really big, Neil.”

            Neil calls out to a roadie and tells him not to bother with a certain cord or something, I don’t entirely understand all the words. Then he turns back to me, eyes dull. “Okay. But we have to remember to call her, Adam. At a decent hour. I’ll talk to her about plans later.”

            He leaves me and hops up onstage, delivering efficient instructions to the crew. Since there’s nothing for me to do here, I take the stairs under the stage and make my way into the labyrinth of corridors below. The venue’s so big that we could all have our own dressing rooms if we wanted, but of course the dancers plus Cam have decided to cram themselves into one room, and Monte and Isaac have settled into another, which leaves me to my own devices.

            Well, almost. I open my door to find Tommy in the center of the room, bobbing his head to the synthesized beat of Brandon Flowers and holding a giant stack of green bills. I watch him count in time with “Only the Young” for a few seconds before slamming the door loudly behind myself. He looks up and grins at me, his head still keeping perfect time.

            “You have some sort of shady side job that I should know about?”

            “Huh?” he says, confused.

            “The cash. What’s with all the cash?”

            Tommy looks down at his hands like he’s forgotten what he was doing. “Oh, yeah. Just collecting for the booze. Monte and I are gonna head to the liquor store before show time. Maybe do a little pre-gaming.”

            The slow, naughty smile on his face is practically lethal. I ignore the twitch in my pants. “Good plan. Only, give that money back. It’s on me tonight.”

            “Dude, it’s always on you. Let us do this for Allison, okay?”

            I don’t know what to make of that. It’s not like I don’t let them buy their own shit if they want it. It’s not like I want them to worship at my feet in return or anything.

            I shrug and pull a twenty from my makeup bag on the counter. “Whatever. I’m still chipping in.”

            Tommy folds the bill into the stack like some sort of expert dealer in Vegas. “Any requests? Never mind.”

            We look at each other and say in unison, “Makers.”

            “Predictable son of a bitch,” Tommy mumbles, but there’s only fondness in his voice. He holds out the wad of bills in front of my face and I cross my eyes to look at the green. He touches it to my nose. “Smell good?”

            “One of the best smells in the world, Glitterbaby. Ranks up there with rain and fresh baked cookies.” As I say it, other favorite smells pop into my head. Smells like Tommy’s hair gel or his deodorant, or the salty musk of his skin after a show. I keep those favorites to myself.

            “Or gasoline. Love the smell of gasoline…” Tommy turns and grabs his hoodie off the back of my makeup chair. “Wanna come?”

            He’s just asking to be polite. He knows I have to shower, warm up, and do my makeup, which will take approximately three hours. “Nah. Just save a few swigs of whiskey for me, okay?”

            “Not a problem.” Tommy smiles at me, a smile that fades a little as we lock gazes for a moment. I hear him suck in a breath and my own breath seems to catch in my lungs. There’s a trace of something I can’t quite name in his eyes; maybe sadness, maybe even a touch of fear. I’m about to ask what he’s thinking when he rips his gaze away and heads towards the door with his head down. “See ya.”

            The words are so quiet I barely hear them, and when the door shuts and I’m alone in the dressing room, all I can do is stare at my reflection in the mirror and wonder what the fuck that was all about.

 

*

 

            I’ve got a nice buzz going. Enough that I feel warm and loose and I find everything hilarious, but not enough that I can’t properly apply my eyeliner. So when Tommy takes a long pull from the bottle of whiskey we’ve been sharing and hands it back to me, I only take a sip before setting it on the counter next to my moisturizer.

            “So Liz says the cabin has a hot tub,” Tommy says. He leans forward into the mirror and applies his own eyeliner, then we both smudge at the same time like we’re doing some sort of synchronized makeup application routine for the Gay Olympics. “And there’s a lake, even though it’ll be too cold to swim. But they’ve got a boat we could take out.”

            “Sounds like the setting of a horror movie.”

            Tommy snorts and throws his eyeliner in my bag. “Or a porno.”

            “Either way, you’ll love it.”

            “Fuck off, Lambert.” He gives me a playful shove before digging through a wire basket and pulling out a tube of lipstick. “You gonna kiss me tonight?”

            “Why? You want me to?” I ask and eye him in the mirror, a smirk planted on my mouth that’s equal parts arrogance and insolence. He stares back at me and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or shocked. I’m not sure I’ve ever shocked Tommy Joe Ratliff. I’ve actually wondered more than once if it’s even possible, so I guess he’s just annoyed. I kick it up a notch. “And are we even talking about Fever? You did mention a hot tub…”

            Tommy groans in irritation, but I also notice a dark flush working its way up his neck. “I just wanted to know whether the dark lipstick would be a good idea.”

            I laugh, and my voice echoes back at me off the walls of the room. Damn, I’m in perfect voice tonight. The good people of Puyallup, Washington are going to get one hell of a show. “Wear it,” I tell him.

            “So…no kiss, then?”

            “Did I say that?”

            Tommy’s still blushing but his mouth has gone all soft, even if his eyes are still a bit sharp. “Usually the lipstick means no kiss, since you don’t like to ruin your perfect makeup and all.”

            He sticks his tongue out at me for good measure and I laugh even though the sight of that wet sliver of pink makes my stomach flip. “You almost sound disappointed.”

            “I am!” he says, and okay, my jaw drops a little in surprise at that. He gives me his own version of my arrogant smirk right back. “You should definitely kiss me tonight. Last show. In the US, I mean, of course. Slip me some tongue or bite me or something.”

            “How about I kneel in front of you and lick up and down your bass?”

He doesn’t respond, just stares at me while all the color drains completely from his face. It’s not too much, what I’ve said. I’ve said much worse, much dirtier things to him before. Hell, we’ve all but done as much on stage. Maybe I’ve somehow managed to finally shock him, although I have to admit I’m a bit disappointed at the timing and content that did him in. “Tommy?”

            Tommy blinks and then shakes his head. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and it hits me that he’s probably just had a little too much alcohol all at once. I stand and move the bottle of Makers out of his reach before settling my hands on his shoulders. I duck my head so that we’re looking directly into each other’s eyes, and there it is again, that odd mix of fear and sadness buried in the golden brown of his irises.

            “Wear it, Glitterbaby. It’s a great color, so it’s okay if I end up wearing it too.”

            Tommy nods slowly, dazed and unsmiling. The alcohol must be hitting him even harder than I thought.

“Adam, I um…” he takes a deep breath and blows it out. “I think maybe I should—”

            A knock at the door cuts him off and Neil pokes his head in. “Hey guys. Tommy, we need you to tune up and check. And Adam, we’ll need you in about five.”

            Neil disappears and I turn back to Tommy, giving him my full attention. “What were you saying?”

            He shrugs and his smile is a bit lopsided. “I don’t remember. Probably something dumb, anyways. Gotta go tune.”

            Then he leaves me alone and bewildered for the second time that day, this time staring at a tube of dark lipstick that he didn’t use.

 

*

 

            Sound check went awesomely. Monte and I played around with some Madonna and then some Guns n’ Roses, and now he’s gone. I look out into the open, darkening skies above the seats and will it not to rain. I walk through the choreography of the show for the fun of it, all by my lonesome; the adrenaline starts to seep into my veins. The energy is so high I can almost hear an electrical buzz ringing in the air, and the audience isn’t even here yet. I can hear the hum of a gathering of fans near the parking lot, and the rest of the band is signing autographs. Sometimes I join them, but not tonight. After the show, yeah, but right now I just want to sit in the quiet, open space of the amphitheater and take it in.

            Almost two years ago on a night like this, I would have been preparing to sing at the Cabaret, maybe getting ready to go on for Wicked. Brad would have been there, fussing over his outfit and mine and making plans for meeting up afterward. And I’d be calmly applying makeup as he flitted around me like a hummingbird, or a male version of Tinkerbell, laughing at his antics and wondering for perhaps the millionth time why we ever broke up.

            Sometimes I really miss those days. Don’t get me wrong. I’m living my dream right now. This is what I’ve been working toward since the first time I stepped into a spotlight. But I do miss the quiet, and the privacy, and the company. And in this incredibly insane way, I miss being poor.

            I’m calling Brad’s cell phone before I even realize I’m doing it. He answers on the first ring.

            “Wondered when you’d call, babe. You crying yet?”

            I scowl at his sweet voice. “Why on earth would I be crying?”

            “Cause it’s the last show and that’s what you do. The last show in the US, I mean.”

            I laugh miserably because A) he’s so fucking right, crying is what I do, and B) he would have fit in so well with Glam Nation, and I wish he’d just accepted my offer to come with me. But he’s proud, and he likes making his own way, and he’s doing pretty damn well at making his own way.

And sure, perhaps the reason he refused to come might have been more out of fear that we’d hurt each other again than pride, but that’s our story and we’re sticking to it.

            “I’m not crying. Not yet. We promised that we wouldn’t cry until after the show.”

            I almost hear him smile lovingly at me as his voice softens. “I’ll never forget that last night of Wicked. You passed out drunk while sobbing hysterically all over my shirt, which I’ve never managed to get the makeup stains out of, by the way.”

            I close my eyes and remember it too. I left Wicked knowing that there was a chance I wouldn’t make it past the Hollywood round of Idol; knowing that if I didn’t, I only had about two grand in my bank account, I’d exhausted most of my options, and I was getting too fucking old for Hollywood.

            “I still can’t believe this is happening,” I murmur into the phone.

            “This is what they call karma, honey. All that good you do, all that work you’ve done, just coming back at ya.” Brad hums happily, the tune of If I Had You, only a few steps higher than my version. “The Universe loves you. Now all you need is a mansion in the Hills, a pretty little husband around to keep you entertained, and a muscular pool boy for when hubby’s not doing his job.”

            I giggle at that. “And where do you fit in?”

            “I’m the mooching ex that lounges by the pool all day sipping Mai Tais and ogling said pool boy.”

            I laugh again and it bounces off the rafters and back down to my ears. I sound so happy.

            “Brad?”

            He sighs. “I know. You love me. And you miss me. Right back at you, babe.”

            “Thanks,” I say and clear my throat, which for some reason seems to have a lump lodged in it. I hear another voice in the background for the first time, and I recognize Cassidy’s tenor. They keep each other company sometimes. I don’t know if they’ve ever slept together. I don’t ask, and they certainly don’t offer that information. Since they haven’t told me as much, all I can assume is that either it happened and it wasn’t a big deal, or it happened and it was a big deal.

And either way I don’t _really_ want to know.

“Cass is there?”

            “Yeah. He’s cooking us dinner then we’re going to hit the clubs. Or maybe see a movie. We can’t decide. That one with Ben Affleck looks pretty awful, but…”

            “It’s Ben Affleck,” I finish for him.

            “Exactly. So I don’t know. Depends. You guys have big plans for after?”

            I look out into the empty seats and shrug. “I guess. Tommy says Liz’s friends have this cabin somewhere in the woods, so we’re going to get Allison fucked up to celebrate her last concert and crash there.”

            “You are such a bad influence,” Brad says, and I hum in agreement. “Tommy and Liz, huh?”

            I catch a note of pity in Brad’s voice. Damn. Brad knows me too well too. Figures. He and Tommy both have that crazy, almost psychic ability to read people that all Libras have.

            “Yeah.” I swallow. “Let the breeders have their fun, right?”

            “Adam…”

            “Brad…” I parrot back. “Save the lecture. You know I have rules about straight boys.”

            “I remember your rules. But I also know that rules can be broken. Especially for hot little blonds that enjoy making out with you on stage.” I say nothing back, and I hear him murmur something to Cass. “Hey, I’m gonna go help Cass baste chicken or something. I don’t really understand what he just said to me. Anyways, was there a reason why you called, other than to gloat about your enormous success?”

            I laugh. “No, consider me gloated out.”

            “Good, cause I was getting sick of all that egotistical bullshit about how it’s just so fucking hard these days to be a celebrity. What with all the paparazzi bashing and hanging out with Katy Perry and shit.” He laughs too. “You deserve this, babe. If the universe hadn’t given it to you, I would have lost all faith in the stars and become a Mormon or something.”

            “You deserve it too.”

            “Oh, I know I do. And someday, I’m going to have a bigger mansion than yours and I’m going to have a whole harem of muscular pool boys.”

            “And where do I fit in?”

            “You?” Brad laughs. “You’re the poor sap who picks up my dry cleaning that used to be somebody. Adam…Adam Lamb something…”

            I laugh again. “Alright, Brad. Goodbye. Go baste Cassidy. Or is that what you were doing when I called?”

            “Go to hell. And hey, maybe you should try to actually hide your boner when Pretty Bassist Boy rubs against you tonight. What do they call it? The Glam Bulge?”

            “Fuck you.”

            “Bye, babe.”

            I end the call chuckling and slip the phone back into my pocket. Somewhere off stage left, a door opens and the sound of Allison’s raspy alto fills the amphitheater.

            “Come _on_ , Tommy. Do it tonight. Please? For me?”

            I straighten my back and turn my ear in the direction of Allison’s voice, and I hear Tommy say in answer, “Ally…I need more time. That’s what I told Liz. I just…I can’t. Not yet.”

            “But it’s the last night!”

            There’s some silence, followed by shuffling. I glance around for them, finding them behind one of the many pieces of scaffolding holding the lights up. Tommy’s arms are wrapped around Allison. She has her face buried in his chest, and her hair looks almost burgundy in the dim light of the cloudy day. I watch him kiss the top of her head and squeeze.

            “There’s time, Ally. We’ve got time still.”

            “Whatever. Don’t blow it, Tommy.”

            Tommy murmurs something and laughs and she shoves him off, laughing too. “Gotta get dressed. See you after?”

            “You bet.”

            I stand up as Allison runs back out the door. Tommy heads toward the stage, oblivious to me until he’s practically halfway across it. When he sees me he halts and stares.

            “Oh. Hey.”

            I raise a brow at him. “So I thought you stayed on Allison’s bus last night because of Liz. But if you stayed because of Allison, I’m sorry Tommy Joe, but I’m going to have to kick your ass.”

            He freezes, for a moment thinking I’m serious, and that’s just a little bit adorable, I have to admit.

            He laughs. “You don’t have to defend her honor, Lambert. I have only the purest intentions with Ally. You know. Besides getting her drunk off her ass tonight.”

            “Good,” I say, nodding. “Didn’t want to have to embarrass you in front of all your friends.”

            Tommy laughs again and I let my eyes fall shut as the beautiful sound reverberates around the room. When I open them again, Tommy’s studying me. His mouth tightens and he clears his throat.

            “Adam, about Liz…”

            “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I didn’t expect you guys to hook up while we’re on tour. You don’t have to worry about your job or,” I chuckle, “our immaculate reputation or something.”

            “No, that’s not—”

            He’s cut off by Monte and Isaac, who burst through the side door laughing so robustly that I feel myself join in. Looks like Tommy and I weren’t the only ones pre-gaming.

            Monte looks at us, and through his laughter manages to say, “Neil says doors open in five. Get your asses off stage.” He turns back to Isaac and bursts into another fit of laughter. “Dude just face planted into the door.”

            “I didn’t know you were opening it!” Isaac exclaims.

            “What was I gonna do? Stare at it?”

            I turn to Tommy and we crack a smile at each other before I issue a boss-like order. “I think maybe it’s time to stop drinking, boys.”

            Monte and Isaac mock salute me and answer with a resounding, “Yes sir!” and they’re on their way again. When the theater is silent once more, Tommy brushes his bangs out of his eyes and shrugs.

            “Well, guess I’d better put on the Christmas elf jacket.”

            “Yeah,” I say, and he turns to go, but I catch his shoulder in my hand and turn him back to me. “Wear the lipstick.”

            I want to tell him that I think he looks gorgeous in lipstick, and that I want nothing more than to see him in it for this Un-Last Concert. But if I tell him that I might not be able to stop, and I’ll end up blurting out that I’d like to see that lipstick smeared all over my skin in crimson paths, proof of where his mouth has been.

            His smile is instant, bright, and crinkles the corners of his eyes. “If that’s what you want. See you down the rabbit hole.”

The next time I see him, it turns out, is actually when I step out of the darkness and into the spotlight for the opening strains of Voodoo and he looks up at me and licks those ruby lips and I know this kiss is going to be one for the record books.

 

*

 

            Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

            The encore’s been over for fifteen minutes, I’ve had four incredibly large gulps of Makers, I’ve squeegeed the pancake makeup from my cheeks and I’m _still hard._

            Christ.

            Tommy Joe really did a number on me tonight. I expected a kiss. A long, sloppy kiss so that all of that pretty red would be on my face when we were done. What he gave me was not a kiss, it was a simulated blow job. On my finger. He parted his lips, curled that pretty little tongue, hollowed his cheeks and _dear god that should have been my cock_.

I kissed him later. Just a small thing barely noticeable to the naked eye, because I couldn’t bear the thought of not kissing him tonight, especially after that. But I kept it short because really, all I could think about was grabbing him by his blond hair and dragging his face to my crotch.

            I palm my dick through my jeans and catch sight of a faint lipstick ring around my index finger. I groan.

            There’s a knock on my dressing room door and I practically run to answer it, even though I know it’s not Tommy. I know this because he’s already been here to gather his things and give me directions to the cabin. He’s probably halfway to it by now. Not that it would matter if it _was_ Tommy. Not like he’s going to suddenly renounce his straightness and get on his knees for me like the perfect submissive boy I daydream he is.

            I also know it’s not him because I asked a particularly gorgeous boy from the audience to come backstage after the show. I open the door and he’s standing there, accompanied by a burly man that runs security for the venue.

            He’s nearly perfect. Five foot six, maybe. Maybe smaller. So thin there’s a jut of hipbones visible under his jeans, his eyes are big and expectant and brown, and his hair is platinum gold.

            Like I said, nearly perfect.

            I don’t have much self-control left, but what I do have kicks in and I usher him inside the room politely. I ask his name and promptly forget it. I allude to the fact that if anything that goes on in this room ends up in a tabloid, he can kiss everything his family owns goodbye. Then I get down to the real business.

            I grab him by the shirt and pull him to me and work his mouth open with my tongue. And thank fuck, he’s good at this. For such a little thing, he’s surprisingly strong and wonderfully enthusiastic. He’s also rock hard already. He grinds into me nice and rough and I’m so on edge because of Tommy and his stupid finger fellatio that I almost come then and there.

            Then the door swings open and Tommy’s standing there with a look on his face that might be shock or disappointment, but somehow either way is completely anger.

            “Forgot my hoodie,” he mumbles and pushes past me and…whatever the boy’s name was, who is still attached to my neck by his lips. Tommy grabs his hoodie from off the suede chair in the room just as the boy decides it’s time to work his way south, and I have to grab his arm and pull him back up.

            “Jesus, slow down. Trust me, no matter what you read on the internet, Tommy doesn’t actually like to watch.”

            I mean it as a joke, something to deflect the ‘fuck you’ vibes I’m getting from Tommy, but he doesn’t laugh. He glares.

            “It’s Ally’s last night, Adam.”

            His voice isn’t just without resonance when he says it, it’s flat.  “I know.”

            Tommy flicks his eyes to the boy wrapped around me, then back up to meet my gaze and I swear, I’ve never seen him look that angry. Or that deflated. “You’d better be there.”

            “Lane got me a car.” I look at the boy and then back to Tommy, forcing a chuckle. “This will only take a minute, trust me.”

            “Whatever,” Tommy mumbles, and this time his voice isn’t flat, it’s broken. He leaves, slamming the door behind himself. The whole thing leaves me so enraged that I momentarily envision myself running after him, shoving him, asking him where the hell he gets off judging me when the whole reason I have some stupid groupie in my dressing room is because he started something he won’t fucking finish. It’s a total Ally McBeal moment and I get into it. I’m calling Tommy the biggest cock tease in history in my head, and imaginary Tommy is weeping with regret and begging me for another chance when Blondie asks me if I’m okay.

            “Yeah,” I say, but it comes out a little shaky. I flash my teeth at him when I smile. “Where were we?”

            “I think I was about to suck your cock.”

I hum and brush my lips against his. “Pick up where we left off?”

He sinks to his knees in answer and flicks my jeans open and _Christ_ he’s got a talented mouth. It’s almost as good as Tommy’s lips wrapped around my finger.

And with that thought I come, hot, white, and blinding. I bite my wrist and scream Tommy’s name around it, blocking it so that maybe it sounds like whatever this boy’s name is, but probably not.

He pulls off of me, licks his lips, and gives me a grin that says he’s proud of himself. “Are we done?” he asks with a bit of a challenge in his tone.

“If we were done after that, do you think I’d have this stellar reputation?” I pull him to his feet as he laughs. The sound is wrong. It’s not musical in the slightest. But I don’t think about that. “I want to see you naked. Then I want to taste you. Then I’m going to fuck you against the mirror so you can see what you look like when you scream my name.”

It takes almost exactly twenty-five minutes for him to scream my name and then slink out of my dressing room with a promise that if I’m ever in Puyallup, WA again, I may just call him.

And that’s when Lane opens my door and stands there with her hands covering her mouth and her eyes red and crying and says:

“Adam, there’s been an accident.”

 

*

 

Everyone talks about the hospital smell; everyone’s got their hospital smell stories, even though no one knows what exactly that smell is. Maybe rubbing alcohol or blood or plastic. Starched sheets or Dial hand soap or urine. But everyone knows _that_ smell. We all complain about it. We all feel tense when we smell it. And it always triggers memories that would be better left in the subconscious.

As Lane and I push through the doors of Puyallup’s only hospital, it’s that smell that finally convinces me that this is real. That one of the rental cars carrying people from my Glamily collided with another vehicle on a twisting country road.

We already know that the driver of that other car was drunk, and now he’s dead.

What’s unknown is how my Glamily is doing.

As soon as we round a corner, Sasha’s in my arms, and Terrance and Taylor wrap themselves around us. Brooke and Cam are hugging, hanging back but watching me with wet, tired eyes. A slightly less familiar voice speaks to Lane so lowly I can barely hear it over Sasha’s sniffling.

“They’re stitching Allison up now. Monte’s really banged up, I think his arm was broken. Maybe more, I don’t know,” Isaac says.

“What happened?” Lane asks. Her voice is shaking.

Isaac sniffs, and I realize that he’s crying too. I turn my head to look at him, and it’s clear he was in the car with the rest of them. There’s a big white patch over most of his forehead, and it’s spotted with blood.

“I don’t know. We went around this curve and a car was spinning toward us. Monte tried to steer out of the way, but they were coming too fast. It was all just too fast. They were so out of control…”

He stops talking and I feel Taylor let go of me so that he can hold Isaac instead. He’s stopped talking, but Isaac’s answer wasn’t good enough for me. No one’s mentioned Tommy. No one’s mentioned Tommy and they’re all crying.

“Where’s Tommy?”

They look at each other and then look away, and no one’s meeting my gaze.

“Guys, where’s Tommy?” I repeat. My voice is commanding, and doesn’t reveal the sickening panic welling up inside me.

Sasha pulls back a little so that she can see my face. “Adam, when the other car hit them, it flipped them over. The car rolled down a hill. Tommy… Tommy wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.”

All the blood in my body sinks down to my fingers and toes. My stomach pulls tight like I might vomit. It’s like my whole being wants to bury itself in the earth and become part of it so that I don’t have to hear this, so that I don’t have to know.

“What are you saying, Sasha?”

Terrance’s grip on me tightens and I feel his body shake against mine. Or maybe it’s mine that’s shaking.

“Tommy was thrown from the car, Adam. Tommy…Tommy didn’t make it.”

 

*

 

I know that Terrance carries me to the car. I’m vaguely aware of someone tucking me into a hotel bed. At some point, someone crawls in with me and hugs me from behind and just from their strong grip I know it’s Monte. He whispers that he’s sorry, so sorry, but I don’t respond.

I’m numb but I’m in so much pain. I’m crying but my tears are dry. This is real but this isn’t happening. I am awake but it’s all a dream. I am alive and Tommy is dead.

I’m not sure when I fall asleep, but eventually my body is too exhausted to carry on, and I drift into another world.

 

*

 

 _I feel like I’m falling. I fall and fall, but there is no end. There’s no ground, there’s no bottom. And after a while, it doesn’t feel like falling at all. I’m drifting instead. Floating. Suspended. Held up and yet held down._

 _I’ve only felt like this once. When I was twelve, Dad took me and Neil to the beach and we were body surfing in the waves. I went out beyond the breakers because I wanted to be daring and brave, but then it seemed as if the ocean itself swelled up, and I couldn’t touch bottom. The current took me under and held me in its grasp; the water below me pushed me toward the surface, and the water above me pushed me to the depths. It moved all around me, so that I moved with it and yet I felt so still. I hung there, at the mercy of the current, for what felt like ages. I knew there was a chance I may not ever get to the surface again, but before I panicked there was this moment of peace. This moment of fascination. This moment of relief as I gave up control and surrendered myself to the will of the sea._

 _I let myself feel that surrender as I sleep, hovering in the in between, but always, deep in the dark corners of my mind, aware that I must choose. I must either surface or drown. I know which one I want it to be. I know because even as I hover, I call out his name. I want to swim toward him. But it’s out of my hands. I surrender control. I am relieved. I sleep._


	2. Day Two

_The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round…_

I wake to Monte’s gentle shaking. “Get your ass up, Lambert. Fucking diva, sleeping until eleven…”

            The soothing rocking of the tour bus seems to have other plans, and I squeeze my eyes shut and ignore my guitarist.

            “Adam,” Monte says while giving me another shake. “Wake up. Lane’s gonna be here any second.”

            It’s like the name triggers something in my memory. Lane. Lane crying. Sasha crying. Monte hugging me. Why was everyone crying?

            I open my eyes and Monte’s staring at me, pulling at his goatee like a philosopher in deep thought. “You okay?”

            “I’m on a bus.”

            Monte gives his goatee a vicious tug and looks at me as though I’m a moron. “Yes. Very good. This is a bus. Lane is going to be on this particular bus soon, and she will have our asses if you’re still sleeping.”

            “But why am I on a bus? I fell asleep in a hotel. I think…”

            Monte laughs. “Figures. Only you would wait until the last day to get tour amnesia.”

            “Last day?”

            “Yeah,” Monte says, his brows creating a deep V on his forehead. “Last concert? Well, not the last, technically. But after this it’s Hong Kong and Singapore so… fuck the agreement, it’s our last concert. At least like this.”

            “Puyallup? We’re in Puyallup again?” I sit up, taking care to hide my naked body from Monte.

            I’m naked. In my tour bus. Not fully clothed in a hotel room. _What the fuck is going on?_

            “Again? Dude, you’ve got it bad.” Monte’s large hand closes over my shoulder and squeezes. “We’re not there yet. Lane, then breakfast, then more traveling. Like always.”

            I bring my hands to my temples and rub. “So we have the last concert tonight in Puyallup.”

            “Yes.”

            _It was a dream._ This whole, awful thing has just been a dream. I was right about that. There was no accident. No one was hurt. No one’s dead.

            “Where’s Tommy?” I ask and feel my heart pound while I wait for the answer.

            Monte’s face changes instantly, his friendly smile replaced with concern. He lowers himself to the corner of the bed and looks thoughtfully at the wall. “Adam… he, um…”

            My chest tightens. It wasn’t a dream. Tommy’s dead. Tommy’s dead and the last time he saw me I was with some stupid groupie cracking jokes and he was disappointed in me and _oh god…_

“Sorry, buddy. He’s with Liz. I mean, he stayed on her bus last night. So…”

            I breathe out, my body quaking in time with my fast heartbeat. Tommy was with Liz last night. Just like yesterday. Or today. Or the dream or whatever. And I am so fucking grateful that he was with Liz. Jesus, I’m grateful that he was with someone else.

            That was some fucking dream.

            “Oh, well…I suppose it was going to happen sometime. Better late than never,” I say, and my voice sounds funny. Kind of shrill. Of course Monte mistakes this for me being in severe pain.

            “Sorry, Adam. I guess, I thought with the way you two were getting so close, I don’t know…” Monte grins. “I guess I was hoping just as much as the fangirls.”

            “I’ve never pretended he was anything other than straight,” I say defensively. And it’s the truth. Pretending and fantasizing are not the same things, after all.

            “I know,” Monte says in a way that tells me he’s not buying it, then he stands and stretches. “Alright rock star. Get out there soon or experience the wrath of Lane.”

            I wait until he’s gone to stand and pull on sweatpants and a Queen t-shirt. I open the door to my lair to find most of my Glamily already there. Brooke, Sasha, and Cam are trying to push Taylor off of their laps and they’re laughing and too rowdy for the early hour. Terrance is on the other end of the couch, checking Twitter on his phone while shooting them the occasional death glare. Isaac and Monte are at the little table, whispering to each other and grinning.

            And of course, Tommy’s not there because he’s on Liz’s bus.

            Everything is exactly like my dream.

            The sense of déjà vu is so overwhelming I actually feel like I’m going to be sick. I’ve had déjà vu before, in small doses. A snippet of a conversation that I feel like I’ve already had, seeing a place for the first time but feeling familiar with it, scattered bits of dreams that seem to come into play during the day. All harmless. But this…this is terrifying.

            Because if my dream is coming true, Tommy is going to die tonight.

            Tommy boards the bus, wearing a t-shirt I bought for him in London. The one that’s dark gray with a map of the Underground printed on it. The one from my dream. It occurs to me that he was the only person, besides my mother, that I bought anything for in London. I bought it for him because I knew he’d like the design, but I bought it for me as well, because I knew the gray would look gorgeously dark on his porcelain skin, and it was snug enough to reveal the shallow lines of his muscles.

            And Christ does he look good in it. He halts a minute when he sees me, something unreadable flashing across his face. Then he winks at me, and my body goes cold.  Suddenly I can’t stand the thought of not touching him, and I squeeze myself between him and Terrance and stretch an arm around his shoulders. He smiles at me, his eyes questioning, so I run a hand through his hair playfully and force a casual grin back.

            He’s here. He’s not dead. He’s alive and he’s here and he’s warm. I lean my head against his just as Lane boards the bus, and it’s slight, practically unnoticeable, but his body shifts into mine.

            I don’t pay attention to what Lane says in the slightest. I’ve heard it all before. I heard it in my dreams. The words are exactly the same. I concentrate on Tommy’s warmth against me and on the steady rise and fall of his chest.

            I don’t move when Lane dismisses us, so it’s Monte who approaches me. “Our usual?”

            Tommy turns to me expectantly and my grip tightens around his shoulders. I try smiling again, an effort that falls miserably flat when I look in Tommy’s eyes and see that same fear and sadness I saw yesterday. Or in my dream, rather. Only now it seems more sad than frightened, but as my paranoia is working overtime, I’m probably just imagining it.

            “Yeah,” I say, and my voice is all weird and gruff. “Go on in and order for me. I need to talk to Lane.”

            Monte agrees and offers a hand to Tommy, who looks at me again with those big scared eyes before Monte pulls him away from me. I hear them joke about our pancake routine as they leave, and Lane has her head cocked at me, clipboard in hand, like she’s a secretary waiting on the boss to give dictation.

            “The hotel we’re staying at tonight, does it have a suite? Maybe a penthouse?”

            Lane lifts a brow. “I already reserved the suite for you. We can upgrade you to the penthouse if you want, but the suite is really big, Adam. I mean, even if you’re planning on, um, _entertaining_ a lot of guests, it’s decent.”

            I don’t like the way she sort of sneers out the word _entertaining_ , but I’m not looking for a fight. “It’s the last night with Allison. I want to party in the hotel.”

            Lane looks relieved. “Oh. Well, actually, I think the bands have made plans to go to some cabin or something. At least that’s what Aaron was saying. You might want to check with them first.”

            “No, I don’t want anyone leaving tonight.” Her brows knit together in confusion. “I don’t want anyone on the roads. We can all stay safely in the penthouse, no driving involved. And no one leaves the hotel tonight. Okay?”

            Lane nods and begins to write on her clipboard. “Okay. I’ll get you moved to the penthouse. Adam, are you sure? It’ll be at least a thousand over the hotel budget tonight. This isn’t exactly a Motel 6. We’re talking quality.”

            I was aware that the hotel was a bit on the luxurious side. I’d asked for this one specifically. And the penthouse was going to seriously dip into my earnings from the venue.

            But if it keeps Tommy Joe from dying, they can have everything in my bank account.

            Inside the IHOP there’s a seat reserved for me next to Tommy, a mug of thick black coffee waiting, and the orders have already been put in. I slide in the booth and take a long drink from my cup before smiling at my friends. Even over the coffee and bacon smell, I can smell Tommy’s shampoo and the little bit of musk that lingers on his rarely washed clothes. Christ, how could I survive without that smell? Before I can stop it, my eyes fill and I have to rub them for a second so the guys won’t notice. I turn to Tommy, steel myself and say, “Don’t you want to sit by Liz?”

            I watch him flick a glance over to her table, and she gestures to him.

            “Nope,” Tommy answers. “I want four different types of pancakes.”

            That earns a laugh around the table and Isaac’s grin catches my attention. God, he’s fitting in so well, and so quickly, almost like he was always part of the Glamily. And I think I have Monte to thank for that, because that’s the way Monte is with everyone, but because he also understands what it’s like to be away from a wife for a long time, and I’m sure Isaac misses his wife terribly.

            “Do you like pancakes, Isaac?” I ask suddenly, and he rolls his eyes.

            “Who doesn’t like pancakes?”

            “Well, crazy people,” I say, laughing it off, “but I just wanted to make sure you weren’t one of them. Also, if you had some sort of moral crisis because you’re helping me lie to Lane, I wanted to give you a way out.”

            Isaac glances over his shoulder and then back, ducking and lowering his voice. “She’s sort of a Nazi, isn’t she?”

            “Oh, you’ve noticed?” I quip, and Tommy giggles next to me.

            “Hey,” Tommy says, and his hand falls on my knee, squeezing. I wonder if he has any clue that a single touch from him equals days of fantasy fodder for me. Most likely not. “So, Liz has this friend who has a cabin not far from here, and we were thinking after the show tonight we could all go up there and get Ally plastered one last time and all that.”

            I shake my head. “I have a better plan. I uh…I got the penthouse for us tonight, which I’ve heard is pretty much amazing and it’s got a balcony with a great view and a piano even. And the best part is that we don’t have to drive anywhere, which means…”

            “More time to drink,” Monte concludes, and I’m so thankful that it’s this easy not to look like a crazy person. Telling them that they’re not driving tonight because that means Tommy’s going to die is not really an option, after all.

            At just the thought, my stomach ties itself into a knot of Pee Wee’s rubber band ball proportions. “So what do you think?”

            Tommy pauses, squishing his bottom lip between his front teeth. He picks up his coffee and stares into its depths while answering. “Good plan. Much…safer.”

            I stare at him. His words wrap around my spine, chilling and prickly. I swallow. “Exactly,” I say, and fake a laugh. “Liz won’t be hurt, will she?”

            He shrugs. “Nah. As long as we’re hanging with Ally tonight it’s alright.”

            Tommy follows me to the bus, but of course I knew he would. He snuggles up to me on the couch as I go about my daily business of emailing, reading reviews, and Googling my name.

He makes a small sound of disapproval when I hit enter, and I narrow my eyes at his blond head. I know exactly what to say.

            “What? I’m just making sure Brad hasn’t sold those nude pics to the Enquirer yet.”

            Tommy is not amused. “Ha. A) Brad would never do that, and B) you wouldn’t let anyone take nude photos of you. You’re too fucking self-conscious.”

            The hairs on my arms rise with goose bumps. The sense of déjà vu makes me feel panicky, hysterical, and I have to swallow it down along with the lump rising in my throat.

            “I’m not that self-conscious,” I murmur in defense.

            “Please. I’ve gone to the beach with you, remember? You swam in a t-shirt.”

            “This from the boy who wore a sweatshirt in Cabo,” I tease.

            “Whatever, dude. Like, a million girls screaming for you to take your clothes off and you wear long sleeve leather jackets.”

            He rolls his eyes and my temper flares up just a touch more. “Oh yeah, cause girls really do it for me.”

             “Plenty of boys are saying it too.”

            _Not the ones that matter._

Tommy tugs at the drawstrings of his hood and curls himself into an even smaller ball. He leans his head back against my shoulder. “All I’m saying is you have no reason to be so self-conscious. You look good. You’re practically skinnier than I am.”

            I snort. “You don’t have all these stupid freckles, though.”

            “I bet a lot of people like your freckles.” Tommy closes his eyes. He’s got one drawstring in his mouth and his hands curled up inside his sleeves and he looks like a child. I want to pull him into my lap and hold him and keep him safe there forever.

            “Do you like my freckles?” I ask suddenly, my voice a whisper barely heard over the rumbling of the bus.

            He smiles but doesn’t open his eyes. “Yeah. I like making shapes out of them. Like constellations.”

            He’s asleep on me in no time flat, and I let him sleep as I check Twitter on my phone. I shouldn’t be surprised that my at replies are the same as the ones from my dream, right down to the fan asking if Tommy and I are together with way too many exclamation points, but I am. I’m shaking a little as I read them, and when I go to reply it takes way too long to type out a 140 character message.

            Tommy mumbles in his sleep and I close my eyes. This must be what insanity feels like. Every single cell in my body is aware of Tommy next to me, and they’re all lit up by his presence, his warmth, his slow breaths. And every part of me is so aware that I have to keep him safe, that I can’t screw this up, that this is all on me. Even worse, the pain of losing him in that damn dream lingers, tempered by the joy that he’s alive, heightened by the fear that I could lose him again. Or lose him for the first time.

            I look down at what I’ve typed in response.

            _“I love Tommy. I couldn’t imagine my life without him, but no, we’re not together.”_

Tommy moves again. This time his arms snake around my middle and I wrap my arms around him as well, and the fear and pain of losing him becomes so acute inside me that my chest actually aches. I brace my phone on his hip, erase my reply, and try again.

            _“For the last time, Tommy is fucking STRAIGHT. He is not interested in MEN. GOT IT?”_

I wince as I hit Send.

 

*

 

            My brother caught me crying once when I was seventeen. I cried a lot that year, probably more than the other years combined. High school was pretty vicious, even though I had a ton of friends through theater. There was always the usual teasing and name calling. I was the fat kid. The ginger. The theater geek with the ugly braces. And to top it off, I was the kid that was probably gay. Still, I hid the crying well. I kept it restricted to the shower or the nighttime when everyone else was asleep.

            I didn’t cry because of the teasing, though. The kids who made fun of me were just going to be the adults taking my order at Starbucks in a few years, after all. I cried because I was fucking lonely. I wanted a boyfriend. I wanted someone to hold hands with, make out with, someone to tell me they loved me, someone I could fall in love with in return.

            And I just wanted to perform. A boyfriend and a chance to perform; it wasn’t too much to ask. But I already felt cramped and stifled during my senior year, and I knew I just had to get the fuck out of dodge.

            It was night and I was having myself a good cry over everything that was wrong in my life when Neil came in my room. Maybe I should have yelled at him to get out. Maybe I should have hid my tears and pretended to be the stereotypical strong big brother. I don’t know. He sat next to me and poked me in the shoulder and said, “You okay?”

            “What does it look like?” I’d asked angrily in return. He tried to get me to talk a few more times, and each time he was met with a progressively angrier and meaner response from me. Finally he left me alone and I fell asleep wallowing in self-pity. When I woke, my bedroom door was open and there was a drawing on my nightstand. It was a cartoon of me, in stick figure form but still with the braces, and Neil with a hastily drawn ‘fro on his head. It showed the two of us in action as we beat up our jackass neighbor, a classmate of mine that always felt it was funny to call me a fag. The last cell was Neil and I flexing our nonexistent, stick figure muscles while our neighbor was on the ground crying.

            I think of that small show of solidarity as Neil hands me my tea. I know it’s chamomile with honey before I take a sip.

            “You okay?” Neil asks, and I don’t fight the smile that comes to my lips. “You look like shit.”

            I drink some tea. “If I told you that I’ve been having crazy accurate déjà vu and I think this really might be the second time I’ve lived through this day this week, what would you say?”

            “I’d say ‘I told you so’ about those drugs at Burning Man.”

            I laugh so hard a little of the tea goes up my nose and I start to cough. Neil takes the tea from me and whacks me on the back. I clear my throat. “You loved Burning Man. At least you seemed to be having a great time. You know, when you weren’t acting like my mom.”

            “Best days of my life,” Neil muses, handing me back my tea. “Well, besides those couple of days in Florida last week with that redheaded girl. Jesus Christ. What a freak.”

            “You’re welcome, little brother. Glad that ‘I’m the closest thing to Adam you can get’ line is still working for you.”

            “I’d say fuck you, but I’m too sated to pick a fight.”

            I laugh and we’re quiet for a few minutes as we watch the roadies do the backbreaking work of getting ready for the show. Neil’s watching with a critical eye, and I have the feeling that he’s going to jump in and take control soon, but for now he turns to me and says, “So Mom’s birthday’s coming up.”

            Oh, right. I’d forgotten about this conversation. I remember my lines like a good actor.

            I nod. “We’ll be in London that week. We could celebrate the day before we leave, or even better, when we get back.”

            “Or…” Neil begins in that tone that tells me he disapproves of my offering. “We could fly back for a day and surprise her.”

            The truth is, I’m really not in the mood for this conversation today. Not only have I had it before, or I feel like I have, but it’s the last of my priorities right now. There’s a concert tonight, Ally’s party, and I need to be worrying about Tommy.

            “No, Neil. Come on. That’s like, an eight hour flight.”

            “It’s _Mom,_ Adam.”

            “I am aware that we are talking about our mother,” I say, huffing. My temper spikes again, and yeah, I probably should just stay away from people today because this whole thing makes me feel nuts and on edge. “We’ll celebrate before we leave. Or after, okay? I know it’s not the same, but it’s the best I can do right now. And if Eber would just fucking-”

            “No, don’t start on Dad. It’s not his fault that we’re going to be out of town.”

            He’s right. I hear his words and I know they’re logical but shit, it’s Dad’s damn fault that I even have to consider that Mom might be alone on her birthday, not mine. “Why do you always defend him? For fuck’s sake, he’s not perfect, Neil.”

            “I know he’s not perfect, Adam. Trust me, I know that more than you do.”

            I close my eyes and feel anger burning my ears. “Here we go with this ‘You weren’t there’ shit.”

            “Well,” he says, “you weren’t. You were in L.A. You missed all the wonderful screaming matches because you were off clubbing, or serving coffee, or doing Debbie Does Dallas or whatever the fuck-”

            “I was trying to do _this_ ,Neil!” I yell before I notice that the crew has stopped working and they’re staring at us. I lower my voice to a hiss. “I was trying to get here, right here. Making a living off performing so that I didn’t have to beg for money from Mom and Dad. And it’s worked out pretty fucking well, hasn’t it? So I’m sorry I wasn’t around when the shit hit the fan, but unless you want to give up a steady paycheck and cute redheads, I suggest you shut your fucking mouth.”

            And that’s it. I hit his biggest nerve, dead on, straight in the bullseye – his pride. Neil’s got a lot of it. I know what it took for him to accept my offer of coming on this tour. I know he must have been desperate. I know it’s his Achilles heel. I watch Neil’s face crumple and instead of satisfaction, I only feel regret.

            But within a second, his face is stony and blank and he turns to go without another word.

            “Neil…” I say after him. The crew is still staring. The weight of their gazes is heavy on me. “Come on. I didn’t mean it. Today’s just been…weird. I don’t feel like myself.”

            He turns back and shrugs, and I know he’ll forgive me eventually but right now his eyes are that scary black color they get when he’s really and truly pissed. “Yeah. Sure. Sorry about Tommy and Liz, by the way.”

            He leaves me with my tea, staring after him dumbfounded. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” I whisper to myself, and then my brain answers: He thinks losing Tommy is the reason why I’m acting like such an asshole.

            He’s not far from the truth, really.

            I still have that drawing that he made me. It’s in a shoe box in the bedroom I had as a child, tucked beneath a pile of clothes I wore seventy pounds ago. As I walk toward my dressing room I wonder: If Neil drew me a cartoon tonight, would I be beating up an asshole with him, or would I be the asshole?

 

            Tommy’s in my dressing room, as I knew he would be. Even without dreaming the whole thing beforehand, it’s a habit now. As I open the door, I find him bobbing his head to the banjo-plucking coming from his iPod speaker, holding a stack of green bills. But something’s off. Something’s different from the dream.

            I watch him for a few seconds while he’s unaware of my presence, and it’s enough for me to figure it out: the song is different. Today, or in this reality, he’s listening to Mumford and Sons, or at least I think that’s what it is. He put their album on my iPod for me a few weeks ago and I’ve barely had time to check it out. I listen to the lyrics for a second, something about investing love, and memorize them so I can find it later. Tommy’s humming, which brings a smile to my face. I slam the door shut behind me. He looks up and grins at me, his head still keeping perfect time.

            “You have some sort of shady side job that I should know about?”

            Dream Tommy must not have been as smart as real Tommy, because Tommy catches on to my lame joke right away. “Whoring myself out to fanboys. Do you mind?”

            I set my tea down on the makeup counter and put my hands on my hips. “Yeah, actually. Honey, if you want to make a couple hundred bucks—”

            “A couple hundred?” he scoffs. “Higher, Lambert.”

            I reach into my makeup bag and pull out a twenty. “What will this buy me?”

            “A smile and half a bottle of Makers.”

            “Excellent, cause that’s what I’m planning on drinking tonight, with you, if you don’t mind.”

            Tommy snatches the bill from my fingers and holds it up to the light, making a big show of checking for counterfeit. Once it meets his approval, he folds it into the stack like some expert dealer in Vegas. “I don’t mind, and luckily for you, I’m not actually whoring myself out. Booze money.”

            I sigh histrionically. “Fine. But can I still get that smile?”

            “Maybe,” he returns, but the fuck off expression he’s wearing melts into a shy smile, the kind Tommy rarely gives to anyone that doesn’t know his deepest secrets. It’s kind of half formed, just a slight lift of the corners of his mouth, and his head is lowered and his gaze meets mine through his long eyelashes. He blushes enough that I know he’s a bit thrown and a bit self-conscious, but he speaks with bite anyways. “That’s as close as you get to a smile for twenty bucks, you cheap bastard.”

            My palm is cupping his chin so fast it barely registers that I moved. Tommy freezes as we lock gazes for a moment, he sucks in a breath, and I see it in his eyes again. Sadness with a touch of fear, and this time I can’t tell what’s more pronounced.

            And for the first time since this whole strange déjà vu thing started, I wonder if it’s me he’s afraid of.

My hand falls from his skin.

            He rips his gaze away from mine and settles it onto the pile of money in his hands. “I should go find Monte. We’re gonna head to the liquor store before show time. Maybe do a little pre-gaming.”

            I stare at him. It’s not time. We have hours to go before it might happen, but it’s like the walls close in around me and all I can think of is Tommy being thrown from a rolling vehicle and his body lying lifeless on some stupid stretch of country road in stupid Puyallup, Washington. And there is no way in hell I’m going to let Tommy near a car today.

            “How about you let Isaac go with him? They could use the bonding time and…” I fish through my makeup bag and find teal glitter, “I could do your makeup.”

            “You want to do my makeup?” He doesn’t sound dubious or even irritated. He just sounds flattered, and it makes my heart do this funny jig in my chest.

  


            “Yeah. Last show. With Ally, I mean. I want to make you pretty, so go tell Monte you’re ditching him.”            

            He raises a brow. “Make me pretty? As if I’m not already.”

            He turns to go at that, looking over his shoulder to make sure I’m watching. I swat him on his nonexistent ass. “Cocky little shit.”

            He yelps and rubs his butt as he leaves my dressing room. I grin and sit back in my makeup chair, satisfied for now. He’s staying here, where I can see him. He’s safe.

 

*

 

            I’ve got a nice buzz going. Enough that I feel warm and loose and I find everything hilarious, but not enough that I can’t properly apply my eyeliner, or Tommy’s for that matter. So when Tommy takes a long pull from the bottle of whiskey we’ve been sharing and hands it back to me, I only take a sip before setting it on the counter next to my moisturizer.

            I’m alternating between us as I do the makeup: foundation for me, foundation for him, liner for me, liner for him, shadow for me, shadow for him. His eyelids are deep, smoky gray at the lash line, fading gorgeously into white up at the brow. About twenty minutes ago, I gave up on berating myself for touching him too much or letting my fingertips linger on his skin and I’ve just been enjoying it. His face is wonderfully smooth, even near his chin where there’s a bit of stubble; it’s soft and even and cool to the touch. I run my fingers over his cheekbones again, pretending to inspect for uneven shimmer powder, and his face is so close to mine I can feel its warmth. And if I dared to lean forward a tiny bit, I could touch my lips to his gorgeous mouth.

            He’s quiet while I work, and his eyes contain the smallest measure of anticipation, as if he is hoping to pass my inspection. And god, yes, he passes. I know the running joke is that I’m a glittery alien, but Tommy is just unreal. He’s so beautiful, like something out of a painting. He’s Degas’s ballerina, Monet’s water lily, Van Gogh’s starry night. Hell, he’s probably what Wilde imagined Dorian to be.

            “Adam?” he says, and I realize he’s been trying to get my attention. “Do I look alright?”

            “Yeah. You look alright.” I add emphasis to the last word, amused that he’s hoping for alright when he rolls out of bed every morning looking better than most of the other poor humans that walk this earth. “But we’re missing something…”

            I reach behind him and grab the dark red lipstick from the wire basket on the counter. I lean over him as I do because, well, why not, and his hand comes to rest on my hip. He’s certainly had a lot to drink because doesn’t push me away, and he doesn’t let go as I sit back down. Instead, he shifts his body weight onto it and leans closer to me, his other hand coming down on top of the lipstick.

            “You gonna kiss me tonight?” The familiarity of those words triggers me, and the emotions from the dream gather tight in my chest again. For almost a half hour, lost in Tommy touching bliss, I’d forgotten. I shove those thoughts away and concentrate on the sexy potential of this moment.

            “Why? You want me to?” I ask and look directly into his eyes as I say it. This is the first flirting trick I ever learned. Look right into their eyes and say something naughty. It disarms even the most guarded boy instantly.

            A dark flush works its way up Tommy’s neck. “You don’t kiss me when I wear that, since it ruins your perfect makeup and all.”

            “No,” I argue, “I don’t kiss you when you’re wearing lipstick because I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.”

            I make myself busy taking the cap off the tube and twisting the ruby color up to a good application height, but I’m aware that he’s gaping at me unabashedly. It’s not that I haven’t said much worse, much dirtier things before, really, but it’s just that this time, I was clearly not joking around. I brave looking at him again and try to lighten the mood. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that. You’re a taken man now, anyways. Practically married. I don’t want to be a home wrecker.”

            “Adam,” Tommy says, and reaches out to take the lipstick from me because I’m fidgeting with it. He sets it aside and rests his hand on my knee. “You should know. It’s not like that. With Liz and me, I mean. She’s great but she’s, um…” He bites his and laughs a little. “She’s not really my type.”

            I laugh too. “I sort of wondered. She seemed a little conservative for you. I always pictured you with someone a little more…sparkly.”

            “Yeah, exactly. That’s exactly it.” Tommy gives his head a shake and I wonder if he’s a little bewildered that I guessed that so easily. But how could anyone not know that about Tommy? He’s absolutely gorgeous in every way. Any girl he loves will have to be just as dazzling. “Actually, Adam—”    

            A knock at the door cuts him off and Neil pokes his head in. “Hey guys. Tommy, we need you to tune up and check. And Adam, we’ll need you in about five.”

            Neil disappears and I turn back to Tommy, giving him my full attention. He looks suddenly tired, and I wonder just how much of the Makers he drank. “What were you saying?”

            He shrugs and his smile is a bit lopsided. “Nothing. Just something dumb. I gotta go tune.”

            He hastily makes his way out of the room, but not before setting the red lipstick on the makeup counter, unused. For a moment I let my imagination run wild and take it as a sign that he wants me to kiss him tonight. Then I get control of myself, pick up the tube, and chuck the dark color back into the wire basket.

            “Sparkly doesn’t matter if you’re not a girl, Lambert,” I mutter to myself, and drink deep from the bottle of Makers.

 

*

 

            Brad Bell is an incredible kisser. Yes, I fell in love with him because of his energy, his loving spirit, and that wit that he wields like a sword. But it was his kiss that hooked me; it was his kiss that made me stay around long enough to learn that he was talented in other ways.

            There are so many parts to a Brad kiss. First, there’s the impish challenge in his eyes, then the glance from underneath his eyelashes that you’d describe as innocent if you didn’t know better. When you lean forward he always moves back a little, just to show you you’re not completely in control. Sometimes there’s a mocking laugh or a defiant hum. Sometimes it’s just a smirk that seems to say, “Is that all you’ve got?”

But then… then he consents, and he leans forward too, and when his lips touch yours, everything outside of that kiss is forgotten. He arches back, he opens his mouth, his quick little tongue dances around yours and you know: there’s no chance of resisting and you should feel privileged that he chose you.

The first time I kissed Brad we were on the dance floor of a club. When he touched his lips to mine, the music became a dull throb in my brain, hardly noticeable over the pounding of my own pulse and the sound of two voices, muffled, moaning, and mingling between our lips.

The second time we kissed we were in the back of a cab, heading toward his one room apartment. Afterward, he asked my name, then kissed me for the third time. Then I asked his.

After the fourth time, I told him I’d never done anything like this before.

“Sure, sweetie, me neither,” he’d replied, high voice laden with sarcasm, and before I could wonder what I’d gotten myself into, kiss number five was happening.

Kisses six through four-hundred and eighty-nine took place in his bed, and were peppered all over our bodies.

In the morning we might have made it all the way to a thousand, but I lost count somewhere between him making me breakfast and him asking me to come back to bed with him for the rest of the day.

Two months later, his bed was my bed, his apartment my apartment, and I was in love.

I look out into the open, darkening skies above the seats and will it not to rain. I had called Brad at this point in my dream, and I don’t know. Maybe it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, or maybe it’s just that I miss his kisses, or maybe it’s because this whole thing is so fucked up that I just need to hear a familiar voice. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t feel unnatural to take out my phone and call him. It feels like it’s what I should be doing.

He answers on the first ring. “Wondered when you’d call, babe. You crying yet?”

            His voice stills me, inside and out. “Why would I be?”

            “Cause it’s the last show and that’s what you do. The last show in the US, I mean.”

            “I’m not crying. Not yet. We promised that we wouldn’t cry until after the show.”

            I almost hear him smile lovingly at me as his voice softens. “I’ll never forget that last night of Wicked. You passed out drunk while sobbing hysterically all over my shirt, which I’ve never managed to get the makeup stains out of, by the way.”

            I sit on the edge of the stage and squeeze my eyes shut. The déjà vu is so overwhelming it’s almost physical. I feel the weight of it on my shoulders, on the top of my head, pressing down on all of me. Brad said his lines perfectly, and I remembered mine like I’d rehearsed them a thousand times, and now more than ever, I’m panicking.

            This is a scripted play, a tragedy, and no matter what I do the other players will say their lines, act their roles. The show goes on, speeding toward its heartbreaking end.

            For the first time, I let myself acknowledge that I may not be able to change that ending, that destiny is stronger than my will, that my control over this situation may just be imagined.

            I let the conversation go on; let it play out like it’s supposed to. Brad jokes about pool boys; I laugh when it’s expected. Then I hear another voice in the background for the first time, and I recognize Cassidy’s tenor.  I’d forgotten Cassidy was with him at all and suddenly I’m overcome with loneliness. Brad’s the only boy I’ve ever loved. The thought of him being happy with someone else only serves to remind me that I have no one. I have everything I want: a rock star life, amazing friends, and all of my dreams coming true, save for one.

“Cass is there?”

            “Yeah. He’s cooking us dinner then we’re going to hit the clubs. Or maybe see a movie. We can’t decide. That one with Ben Affleck looks pretty awful, but…”

            “It’s Ben Affleck,” I finish for him. I listen to him laugh and while he does, I muster the courage to ask a question that will most assuredly hurt me to have answered. “Brad, are you sleeping with him?”

            There’s silence, and I know it’s of the stunned variety. We don’t ask each other those kinds of questions. I know he’s had a constant stream of other boys in his life; he knows I have them in mine, and we don’t ask because deep down, we both know the other boys don’t matter. Asking breaks the silent code between us. Asking indicates that Cassidy might be important, and no one else could possibly be important.

            I hear him swallow. “Yes.”

            I nod, though he can’t see it. He takes my silence as disapproval and explains himself.

            “He’s really good company, Adam. We have similar goals, you know, and he pushes me. He makes me laugh and he’s…well, you know Cass. He can be vain but there’s reason for it. He’s not bad to look at.” He quiets and I remain so, and after a few seconds he rushes on nervously. “It’s not serious or anything. We’re both, um, open to suggestion, so to speak. But he’s…you know… he’s…”

            “There,” I finish for him.

            “Yeah. He’s here.”

            What goes unsaid but is clearly implied is that I am not there, and even when I am, I am busy, distracted, and in no position to be a good companion for him. And Brad needs a companion. Try as he might to act promiscuous, flitting from one man to the next like an indiscriminate little hummingbird, Brad is a one-man type of boy. At least he is when he has the right man.

            And yeah, I guess I’m implying that the right man is me. Except that the statement isn’t entirely true that way, is it? Not when it was his infidelity that drove us apart. So maybe I’m just full of shit. Delusional, sugar-coated shit.

            “Did you want me to wait on you, Adam? Is that what you’re saying?”

            There’s hope in his voice, which hurts, and also a bit of annoyance, because Brad Bell waits for no man. Even the ones he loves.

             “No. That’s not what I meant. I want you to be happy, Brad. Really. That’s practically all I want in this world, besides fame and money and wild success and pool boys, you know.” He laughs, and I can hear him muffle the phone and say something to Cassidy. There’s the familiar sound of a glass door sliding shut and then faint sounds of traffic. Sounds that I’m used to. Sounds of our apartment. He’s sitting outside on the tiny balcony now, away from Cassidy’s ears.

            He whispers into the phone, “So why ask?”

            I sigh. “I don’t know. Kind of mopey and feeling sorry for myself. I guess I wanted one more thing to be sad about.”

            “And it makes you sad that I’m with Cassidy? Kind of with Cassidy, I should say.”

            “Yes. No. I mean, I am happy for you. But I’m also sad to hear it. But not sad for you…” I sigh again. I’m rambling because I don’t know what the hell I’m actually feeling. Or I do and I don’t want to say the words. “Oh fuck it. I don’t know what I mean.”

            “I do.”  His voice is faint and horribly full of regret.

            I wait a few tics. “What do I mean?”

            “I mean, we have a lot of history between us. We grew up together. We found ourselves with each other. We have roots, babe. All tangled up in each other. No matter how far apart we get, we’re always connected because of the roots.” He pauses. “Watching you with Drake made me crazy. You didn’t even love him, but he was comforting to you and I hated that. I hated that you found so much support from him during a time that we had dreamt about together for years. He was holding your hand when I should have been. Not because I felt any claim to your success, but because I knew there was no one else that could understand what your success meant like I could. Because… well, because seeing you become a star was like part of myself becoming a star. And I hate the thought of anyone else coming close to being that important to you because, for me, all roads lead back to you, you know? All of them.”

            I really, really wish I hadn’t asked. But it’s irrevocable, and his words ring true in my ears. His Drake is like my Cass. Cass may be there, he may get to hold him at night, but he has absolutely no idea who Brad is, not like I do, because I was there for the creation of Brad. And Brad could not have created himself without including a dash of Adam Lambert into the mix.

            “I know exactly what you mean.” I look out into the empty seats of the theater. My throat and chest ache like I should be crying, but I can’t. “I’m really glad you have him. I’m really glad you have someone, and I think that’s it more than anything right now. I just don’t have someone, and I guess it makes me feel a little lonelier that you do.”

            “Don’t give me that. You’ve got Monte and that entire dance troupe of yours. Not to mention Tommy. And Tommy…Jesus Christ.”

            I laugh. “Yeah. I know exactly what you mean with that, too.” We grow silent. The aching in my chest condenses into a pinpoint, right above my heart. “They’re not lovers, though.”

            Brad hums in agreement. For a minute there’s only the sound of passing traffic on his end, but then I speak.

            “Can I ask you a really weird question?”

            “I love answering weird questions.”

            I smile. “Okay. If you had a dream or a premonition or something that I was going to die tonight…like, a horrible car accident or something…what would you do?”

            He doesn’t hesitate. “I’d get on the first plane to wherever the fuck you are and tie you to the bed and not let you out of my sight until I knew you were safe.”

            My chest clenches. Of course that’s what Brad would do. He loves me. And I’m going to do the same for Tommy because I love him. In a slightly less romantic way of course.

            “That’s what I thought.”

            “Do I want to know why you asked that?”

            “No.”

            Silence again, then Brad: “Adam, there’s something you should know. I was sleeping with Cassidy before. Before you came home that last time, I mean.”

            I try to process that. The last time I came home, during a small break from tour a few months back, I spent the entire weekend with Brad. Most of it naked. It hurts to hear he was with Cassidy then. It fucking hurts, but it probably shouldn’t.

            “I should have told you. I just didn’t want to tell you because I thought maybe…I don’t know. I thought maybe this time it meant you wanted me back. And I guess that’s why I’m telling you now. In case you ever _do_ want me back. Because I don’t want to be dishonest and I want you to trust me even though I know it’s probably impossible after the…well, after that night…”

            He doesn’t explain further and he doesn’t need to. The night he’s talking about is the one we never talk about, the one that’s too fucking painful to even acknowledge in the deepest recesses of our memories, the darkest moment in our collective history.

            “Adam, I’m so sorry. I’m still so so—”

            “Don’t,” I say and I actually put a hand up in the air. “Just don’t.”

            “But I need to—”

            “No, you don’t.” I close my eyes. “I love you, Brad, and I miss you.”

            “I know,” he says, voice distant. “Right back at you, babe.”

            “We’ll talk when I come home, okay?”

            He agrees softly and I end the call, slipping the phone back into my pocket. Somewhere off stage left, a door opens and the sound of Allison’s raspy alto fills the amphitheater.

            “Come _on_ , Tommy. Do it tonight. Please? For me?”

            I straighten my back and turn my ear in the direction of Allison’s voice, and I hear Tommy answer, “Ally…I need more time. That’s what I told Liz. I just…I can’t. Not yet.”

            “But it’s the last night!”

            There’s some silence, followed by shuffling. I glance around for them, finding them behind one of the many pieces of scaffolding holding the lights up. Tommy’s arms are wrapped around Allison. She has her face buried in his chest, and her hair looks almost burgundy in the dim light of the cloudy day. I watch him kiss the top of her head and squeeze.

            “There’s time, Ally. We’ve got time still.”

            “Whatever. Don’t blow it, Tommy.”

            Tommy murmurs something and laughs and she shoves him off, laughing too. “Gotta get dressed. See you after?”

            “You bet.”

            I stand up as Allison runs back out the door. Tommy heads toward the stage and his eyes immediately find mine through the darkness.

            “Hey.”

            “Hi,” I say. I know that I joked with him at this point in the dream, but after that conversation with Brad, I don’t fucking feel like cracking jokes. And fuck the dream anyway. It’s not going to come true. Not if I can help it, and the more I veer from the script, the more I can prove that.

            _Right?_

            “What is it that Allison wants you to do tonight?” I ask. Talk about cutting to the chase.

            His eyes widen and his earlobes turn bright red. I’m sure I’ve caught him off guard. I’m not usually this nosy. At least not with him. “Um. Well, it’s just… You know how we were talking earlier and I said Liz wasn’t really my type?”

            “Yeah, she’s not sparkly,” I say, confused as to where this could be going.

            Tommy’s smile is all shy and reluctant. “Right. You were completely right about that. I like sparkly. I like sparkly and I like glittery and talented and, well, hot.”

            “Allison’s too young for you, Tommy Joe,” I joke and wince because it’s too much like the dream. Is that my answer? Even if I change it, I can’t really change it?

            “I’m not talking about Allison.” Tommy’s face is serious but there’s something soft in the depths of his eyes. I’m about to tell him to just spit it out because really, if it’s not Allison or Liz, who the hell can it be? Brooke? Lane, God forbid? As I open my mouth to ask, Monte and Isaac burst through the side door laughing so robustly that I feel myself join in. Tommy and I definitely weren’t the only ones pre-gaming.

            Monte looks at us and through his laughter manages to say, “Neil says doors open in five. Get your asses off stage.” He turns back to Isaac and bursts into another fit of laughter. “Dude just face planted into the door.”

            “I didn’t know you were opening it!” Isaac exclaims.

            “What was I gonna do? Stare at it?”

            I turn to Tommy and instead of laughing along with Monte and Isaac, he just seems annoyed. I glance back at Monte and Isaac and suggest gently, “I think maybe it’s time to stop drinking, boys.”

            Monte and Isaac make a show of saluting me and answer with a resounding, “Yes sir!” as if I am some sort of ruthless leader, and then they’re on their way again. When the theater is silent once more, I turn back to Tommy. He’s turned pale and that softness in his eyes is gone.

            “What were you saying?” I ask.

            He shrugs. “Nothing. Nevermind. I’m going to go change.”

            He hesitates, as if waiting for me to stop him, but I don’t. The door is slamming behind him before I realize I hadn’t told him to wear the red lipstick.

            The next time I see him is when I step out of the darkness and into the spotlight for the opening strains of Voodoo and he looks up at me. He’s wearing it, the ruby red, and he licks his painted lips and stares up and me almost invitingly, and his eyes…

            The softness is back, and I realize what I’d seen in his eyes before in my dream wasn’t fear or sadness but fragility.

 

*

 

            Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

            I stare at myself in the mirror, makeup off, freckles and bad skin glaring back at me in the harsh light of the dressing room.

            “Get a grip,” I whisper to myself even as I feel the ghostly echoes of Tommy’s lips closing around my finger. Shit. Tonight I was even prepared for it. I knew exactly what he was going for when he opened his mouth and let me slip my finger inside, but if anything, my reaction is ten times worse this time through.

            I look away from my reflection, disgusted with myself. I’m practically a loaded gun, cocked and ready to fire, excuse the expression. It’s all the emotions from this day, from this stupid fucking dream, making my usual – and rational – way of life null and void. That’s the only explanation. The déjà vu, the news from Brad, the escalating fear as each minute passed that I would lose Tommy to a horrible destiny, it was all a recipe for a warped perspective.

            Never mind that I’d looked right into his eyes while he was working his mouth on my finger. Never mind that his expression was so full of lust that I let myself believe he wasn’t acting. Never mind that without the shock to distract me, I felt every little flick of his tongue.

            Fuck.

            In this reality, we were all headed only a few blocks away to the hotel, not to the cabin Liz had suggested, which meant that there was no time for a slutty groupie to take care of this problem for me. There was no time to take care of the problem myself either. As frustrating as it was to go to the party horny as hell, at least it was a drastic change from the sequence of events in my dream. Small successes, little triumphs, and every one meant that the dream could be wrong.

            I ask Tommy to ride on my bus to the hotel and hear him tell Liz he has to go. She hugs him like he’s marching off to war and then we’re off. The buses make it to the hotel without incident, and it’s only when we pull into the parking lot that I realize I’d been holding my breath the entire trip, while Tommy and the dancers have been chattering on about what a great show it was. As soon as we’re off the bus, Lane distributes room keys and then whisks me off to the penthouse.

            We both gasp as the door opens.

            For such short notice, the staff members at the hotel have done an amazing job. The catering is all set up, there’s a tender behind the bar waiting to serve drinks, Scissor Sisters are being piped through the penthouse’s stereo system, and there are already guests. Most of them, I note, are attractive boys who gaze at me as though they can’t wait to eat me.

            I raise a brow at Lane, who lifts her hands, feigning innocence.

“They were all Neil’s doing. Apparently there were a lot of guys in the crowd tonight that fit your type. And don’t worry, he checked IDs. Despite how they look, they’re all way over the age of consent.”

And this is why I love my brother Neil.

I have a feeling this is his way of apologizing for making me feel bad again about going to L.A. Since I was a bit of a jackass, I should probably find a way of apologizing to him, too. Maybe I can send all the cute redheaded girls I can find in his direction or something.

I order Makers with a splash of Coke and before I can sit down or even talk to one of the pretty boys, it seems the entire rest of the party arrives at once. The bands, the dancers, and just about fifty of our closest friends. Allison quickly becomes the center of attention, as it should be considering this is her party, and I sit back and watch the entire thing revolve around her. I spend time talking with Terrance and Taylor before I part ways with them and glance around the room. Tommy’s in the corner with Liz and they’re whispering into each other’s ears. They both look serious, and yeah, he may have said she wasn’t his type, but there’s something between them. Anyone can see that.

I imagine his mouth on my finger again and make a grunting sound in the back of my throat. I turn my back to them and scan the crowd for one of Neil’s presents to me. I don’t have to look long because one of the presents finds me first. Blond, brown-eyed, slight frame. He grins at me and slides a hand up my arm and suddenly my head is filled with images from the dream.

Blondie.

The problem is, it’s not only the images I remember. I remember the smell of this guy as he was sweating underneath me, I remember the sound of his whimpers and panting breaths; I remember that every time he made me come, I was imagining it was Tommy instead.

It’s too real. It’s all too fucking real.

And I know that if I lead this guy into my bedroom, I’ll find that every single memory will be accurate.

“Hey,” he says to me in a kind of purring voice. “I’m Josh.”

This time, the name sticks. “Hi. I’m Adam.”

His grin is somehow both submissive and predatory. “I know.”

“Right,” I say, because of course he knows my name. He was part of my audience.

“Great show tonight.” His hand moves to my side, tracing over ribs. The slight touch brings all the pent up sexual frustration I’ve been carrying around to the surface. Between Tommy’s teasing and the porno-like memories of Blondie – erm, Josh – rolling around in my head, my self-control doesn’t stand a chance.

I look over Josh’s head toward the corner, where Tommy and Liz are still talking, heads bent close to each other in an intimate exchange. He’s here, he’s not going to leave, he’s safe. And I know that now, so I don’t need to be watching him all night. He’s safe, and he’s with Liz even if she’s not sparkly or what the fuck ever, which means that I can do whatever I want to do. Whatever I _need_ to do.

I lean in close to Josh, nip his earlobe with my teeth, and say, “My bedroom’s back that way…” because why play games when there are only winners in this situation?

I watch Josh’s eyelids flutter shut and he presses his small body against mine. “Thought you might need some attention after that show. If I had to put up with that pretty boy teasing me night after night, I’d be out of my mind. I admire your self-control.”

I glance over at Tommy again, but he’s gone. My eyes search the room while I answer Josh. “Not really a question of self-control. It really is all stage gay.”

“Sure,” Josh says, like he doesn’t believe that for a minute, and suddenly I’m more annoyed with him than interested in fucking his brains out.

“Can I talk to you?”

Tommy’s voice behind me makes me jump and I turn around. Somehow, Josh manages to keep his grip on me.

“We were actually about to leave,” Josh replies for me with a sneer in Tommy’s direction.

Tommy ignores him and looks at me. “Just a minute. Alone.”

I remove Josh’s hands from my upper arm and offer him a smile. “Just a minute. I promise.”

“Uh huh,” he says like he doesn’t believe that either, and crosses his arms like a bratty child.

I roll my eyes and wrap an arm around Tommy’s shoulders, leading him toward the balcony. The entire party must be staring at us as we go. I feel their stares on me and hear some whispering. I can only imagine what the fans here think they see, with Tommy and me heading out to be alone. Ally takes Liz’s hands in hers and squeezes, I catch that, and Terrance points at us with Taylor and Sasha nodding at him. So I guess my Glamily can be as bad as the fans sometimes.

As Tommy and I reach the sliding doors that will take us out to the balcony, I realize there’s a person I didn’t count amongst the crowd.

“Tommy, where’s Monte?”

Tommy halts and peers around the room. I wonder if he notices that everyone’s attention is on us. When he turns back to me, his eyes are sharp. Panicked. “I don’t know. We’re all supposed to be here.”

“He was here earlier, right?”

“Yeah, where is he?”

Shit. No one was supposed to leave. Yeah, I was mainly concerned about Tommy, but still. No one was supposed to go anywhere but this room tonight.

“Maybe he just stepped out to call Lisa?” Tommy offers feebly, but I shake my head. Something is wrong. Something is horribly wrong. I feel it in the pit of my stomach. Maybe Tommy can sense that I’m worried, or maybe he’s worried himself, I don’t know. But his grip tightens on me, so strong that it almost hurts, and I know it will probably bruise.

“I need to know where he is,” I say, because it sounds a little more neutral than any of the other phrases running through my head right now.

Tommy’s a step ahead of me and he pulls me along, away from the balcony where we were going to talk, alone, and toward Lane. She’s mid-laugh, flirting with an attractive guy that’s obviously straight, and the laugh stops short when she sees our expressions.

“Where’s Monte?” Tommy doesn’t so much ask as demand, and I’ve never heard his voice quite so pinched. I study him. His skin is nearly translucent, it’s so white, and he has goosebumps.

Lane touches the guy she was flirting with on the elbow and excuses herself. She gives us a death glare and lowers her voice so that none of the onlookers can hear. “He decided to fly home tonight so that he could spend more time with the kids before the international leg.”

The news punches me in the gut, churning up all the worry again. “But,” I stammer, “we were all supposed to stay here to say goodbye to Ally.”

I know it’s a lame protest, but it’s the sanest one I can give. Tommy nods along with me. “Yes. He’s supposed to be here. Everyone was supposed to be here, Lane.”

Lane looks at me for help, as if I should tell my bassist to get off her back. She lifts her chin indignantly. “He said goodbye to Ally earlier. Come on, guys, relax. He wanted to see his family. Give him a break.”

“Did he drive himself to the airport?” Tommy asks, and when Lane nods yes, his grip on me tightens. I look down at his hands. His knuckles and fingernails are white and blue.

“Took a rental. Might as well, we had all those SUVs rented to go to that cabin anyways.”

“No one’s supposed to be driving,” I say, and I hear Tommy echo the same sentiment.

Lane rolls her eyes and takes a swig of champagne from the flute she’s holding. “He was sober, I promise you. Now go enjoy the party and leave me alone. I’m not working tonight and there is a cute guy who seems like he might actually like women, and those are a bit few and far between on this tour. So if you’ll excuse me—”

Lane’s phone lets out a shrill shriek and she jumps before taking it out of her pocket and holding it to her ear. “This is Lane.”

I know what the voice on the line is saying to her even before her face falls and her eyes well up with tears. I know it before she looks at me and Tommy with an expression so sad and shocked that there’s no doubt what the caller had to say. I know it before Tommy’s legs give out and he has to lean against me to hold himself up. I know it before Lane pulls the phone away from her ear, covers her mouth with her hand and says in a broken voice, “Adam, there’s been an accident.”

 

*

 

I know that I scream at everyone to get the fuck out of the room. I know I hurl a bottle of something from the bar across the room so hard that it shatters against the wall. I know that Tommy wraps himself around me and we hold each other in the middle of the room and cry. I know that Lane is the one that calls Lisa to tell her that her husband and the father of her children is dead. I know that Terrance finally forces me into my bed and that Tommy curls himself up next to me and wraps his little arms around me and his presence, his _alive_ -ness, is the only thing that keeps me from completely drifting into insanity.

I’m numb but I’m in so much pain. I’m crying but my tears are dry. This is real but this isn’t happening. I am awake but it’s all a dream. I am alive and Monte is dead. I am alive, Tommy is alive, but Monte is dead.

I’m not sure when I fall asleep, but eventually my body is too exhausted to carry on, and I drift into another world, safe in Tommy’s arms.

 

*

 

 _I’m falling._

 _I fall and fall. I fall into darkness, into silence. I keep waiting for impact, waiting for the ground to meet me, but it never does. The fall is slow, unhurried, controlled and measured. I begin to realize that I’m not falling at all. I’m drifting. Floating. Suspended. Held up yet held down._

 _I surrender to it. I give myself over to its will, to the feeling of being carried as if by a current. I am at its mercy._

 _Yet, even as I hover in this dream, in this strange in between, I know that I may surface, or I may drown. I know what I want it to be. I know because I can feel his arms around me, I can feel his heart beating. And even though a voice rings out in the depths, the voice of a trusted friend, I know I cannot follow. I do not want to follow. It is here I want to stay. Here in his warmth. Here in his being. I float away from the voice, into the powerful tide that surges toward the surface. I surrender control. I am relieved. I sleep._





	3. Day Three

_The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round…_

            Monte’s always been kind of gentle with me, really. He doesn’t baby me or anything, but he looks out for me. Maybe part of it is his age, or the fact that he’s a kickass father and is always in father mode. Or maybe it’s just because when we met, I was a seriously down-on-my-luck singer who was starting to think I was never going to make it. Maybe he just feels responsible for making me believe that I’m a star. Or maybe he feels responsible for keeping that belief alive.

We were both searching when we found each other in L.A. all those years ago, we just weren’t sure what we were searching for. But when we met there was an immediate connection, an immediate recognition that we each had something to offer the other. I needed a guitar player who could push me to the next level; he needed a vocalist to match his eclecticism and skill. It was, we decided, fate. Citizen Vein was born and then Idol happened and now, here we are selling out a national tour.

            The Universe works in mysterious ways.

            I feel warm hands on my shoulders, shaking me gently. I smile at his gruff voice when it says, “Get your ass up, Lambert. Fucking diva, sleeping until eleven…”

            I have exactly two more seconds of happiness before the memories of the day before come rushing back: Tommy alive, the concert, the call to Brad, the party, Monte dying.

            _Monte dying._

            My eyes fly open. Monte’s hunched over me, pulling at his goatee like a philosopher deep in thought.

            “Fuck.”

            “No thanks, sweetheart. Lisa will get jealous.”

            I bury my head underneath my pillow and close my eyes again. I’m crazy. I’m going fucking insane. That is the only possible explanation. Monte is standing over me, joking with me as if he didn’t just die last night, as if Tommy didn’t die the night before, as if none of these stupid dreams have ever taken place. Slowly, fearfully, I lift up a corner of the pillow.

            “What is today?”

            “Tuesday,” Monte gives his goatee a vicious tug and looks at me as though I’m a moron. “September…twenty-first, I think.”

            “And we’re in Puyallup?”

            Monte kind of chuckles and I feel the pillow lifting off of my head. He grins down at me. “That’s right. The Un-Last Concert, motherfucker. So you’d better get your ass out of bed or you’re going to have to feel the wrath of Lane.”

            “Okay,” I mumble and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Monte turns to go. “Hey, Monte. Is Tommy on the other bus?”

            Monte’s face changes instantly, his friendly smile replaced with concern. He lowers himself to the corner of the bed and looks thoughtfully at the wall. When he speaks it’s with care, and I know he’s trying hard not to break my heart with his words. “Yeah, he is. With Liz. I mean, he stayed on her bus last night. So…”

            “I know,” I say. I make sure the blankets cover me and scoot next to Monte, draping an arm over his shoulders. “I wouldn’t think too much of it, though, okay? I think they’re just having fun. She’s not Tommy’s type.”

            Monte looks at me skeptically. “You don’t think?”

            “I know she’s not. He’s said as much.” It’s not quite a lie. Not when it’s the truth, even if it’s debatable that he ever said it.

            He squints at me then snorts. “Yeah, she’s really not.” His eyes narrow further. “I think maybe Tommy’s been looking at the wrong type for years.”

            I think of the girls I’ve seen in Tommy’s life, all pretty brunettes. All just a bit too uptight. “Yeah, though I don’t know. Delmy wasn’t too bad.”

            Monte cocks his head and studies me for a few tics before answering. “Still not quite what he needs, though…”

            The look on his face is something I’ve grown accustomed to over the last few years. It’s a look that says he’s figured out some secret about life and he’s not sharing. At least not yet. He’s got that wise old man thing going for him, even if he’s not old, which is one of the many reasons why he’s a great father and mentor.

I wonder if he has any clue what a good father he is. I wonder if he has any clue what a good friend he is. I wonder if he knows he’s one of the most genuine, good-hearted people on the planet, and that his steady presence keeps me grounded when the entire world is in chaos.

            “How are the kids?” I ask him suddenly, and his face lights up.

            “Great. Lisa thinks they’re starting to recognize my singing voice. She said the other night…”

            I let him talk about his children for a few minutes, listening but not really processing his words. Instead, my head’s back in the chaos as I try to figure out just what the hell is going on. So I tried to change the dream, the _nightmare_ , the second time through, and although I saved Tommy, Monte died instead. Who would I lose tonight?

            No one, I answer myself. I will not lose anyone.

            “Monte,” I say, interrupting him. He closes his mouth and looks at me. “I’m going to sound like a real dick here. I know you could go home tonight and see your family an extra day, but please stay here tonight. Don’t fly home. Don’t get into any cars. I know this is nuts of me to ask, and asshole-ish on top of it, but…I have this horrible feeling. I can’t explain it, but I can’t ignore it.”

            I expect him to be disappointed or pissed or even make fun of me at this point, but all I see in his eyes is concern. And it makes my heart swell with love for him. “Ok, boss. Are you alright? Are we alright? I mean, should I be worried about the band or anything?”

            “No, no,” I reply as emphatically as I can muster. “I’m just being paranoid. I’ve had some weird dreams lately, that’s all. Probably just stressed about taking the tour international. Still, I’d rather just have everyone close tonight, so I’m gonna throw a party for Allison at our hotel. I need everyone close, you know?”

            Monte nods like he understands, but his expression says otherwise.

            “I love you, you know that?” I find myself asking him, and it’s like I can feel myself breaking with those words. It’s like something important inside me comes loose and falls away, and it was the one thing that was keeping me together. An avalanche follows. I make a sound that’s halfway in between a sob and a scream and cover my mouth. My heart, my mind…it’s all broken, and I’m giving into it. I’m letting myself break more; I’m letting myself shatter.

            “Jesus, now you’re really scaring me.” Monte wraps his arms around me and I curl into him like a child, paying no mind whatsoever that this is probably awkward, with me being naked under the covers and all. “You wanna skip breakfast and talk? Everyone will understand if you need some time. Hell, Lane might even get you pancakes to go.”

            “I’m fine,” I say, but I’m not. I don’t even notice that I’m crying until I move my cheek against Monte’s sweatshirt and feel how damp it is. “Just please stay close tonight.”

            He hugs me closer and I can feel myself shiver against him. “Of course. Anything, Adam.”

            His easy agreement makes me somehow feel worse – more insane, more broken. I try to salvage some self-composure. “I think I just need some time to pull myself together, okay? If you can tell Lane I’m just not feeling great…”

            “Sure,” Monte says. He releases me and strokes a hand through my hair, something I imagine he does with any of his kids when they need comforted. “I’ll get you some pancakes.”

            I chuckle through my tears. It sounds almost maniacal in my ears. “Thanks.”

            He leaves with an apprehensive glance at me over his shoulder, and I tug all my covers around myself and make a cocoon. There’s a ruckus outside my door, and I know my Glamily is gathered, waiting on Lane to issue orders. Taylor’s probably trying to sit on the girls’ laps, Terrance is most likely acting annoyed, Monte is talking to Isaac secretively, and in a few seconds, Tommy will climb onto the bus and sit down as well.

            I close my eyes and block the sounds of them out. Then, for the first time in what feels like days, I try to think rationally. I start with the question I think might be easiest to answer.

            Is it possible to dream two whole days worth of stuff in one night? I mean, time passes differently in dreams. At least, that’s what that whole Leo DiCaprio movie was based on, right?

            Or am I still in the dream? Could it be that this is all one crazy, fucked up dream and I’m still in it? And will I ever be able to wake up from it?

            There’s only one way to find that out, so I grab a hunk of skin on my forearm with my thumb and index finger and pinch as hard as I can.

            “Fuck!” I hiss, and my skin throbs but I have my answer.

            Or do I?  
            Couldn’t I be dreaming that reaction, even the pain?

            Fuck if I know. Everything these past few days has seemed real. Too real.

            There’s a knock at the door. I throw the covers off my head and prepare to tell Lane that I’m fine, really, I just needed a minute, but it’s actually Tommy who steps inside my lair.

            He closes the door behind himself and leans up against it. We stare at each other in silence until the last of the voices from outside fade away. Then he asks, “Not feeling good?”

            “Just wanted some time alone,” I say and stare at the door behind him pointedly. It’s not really fair to feel this hostility toward him. It’s not like he knows that the past two nights he’s been sucking on my finger like a whore and then giving me sanctimonious shit about relieving my sexual frustration with a groupie. Or worse, cockblocking. He glares at me, face unchanging, and I sigh. “No, if you must know. I feel like I’m going completely mental and if I don’t have a few minutes to sort myself out, I’m going to be doing the next few concerts in the loony bin. So, if you don’t mind—”

            “Did Monte die last night?”

            My head snaps up and a wave of nausea rolls through my stomach. “What?”

            Tommy takes a step closer to my bed. “I said, did Monte die last night?”

            “No,” I say quickly. Even though my whole body is suddenly wracked with chills, my first instinct is denial. Of course it is. I can’t tell Tommy that I’m fucking crazier than a shithouse rat. Even if he seems to be admitting that he might be too. Because shit, if I have to devolve into a raving lunatic, I don’t have to pull him into the madness with me. “Monte’s alive. You saw him. He’s fucking alive, Tommy.”

            “Adam…” Tommy warns, then asks again. “Did Monte die last night? Or maybe I should ask it this way instead – did Monte die tonight?”

            I shake my head furiously, not looking at him, but the tears are coming again. They’re rolling down my cheeks and inside my head there’s this cacophony of contradicting thoughts: Keep lying. No, tell him the truth. You’re fucking crazy, Lambert.

            “I wondered, yesterday, when you decided to keep everyone at the hotel so we wouldn’t be in cars.” He moves even closer now, kneeling by the bedside so that we’re at eye level.

            “It’s a dream,” I offer lamely. “It’s just a dream. This isn’t real.”

            “Adam,” Tommy whispers and I finally look into his eyes. They’re wet too. “I think it is.”

            “No. Because Monte died last night, but he’s here. And you…” My voice cracks and I have to swallow down the lump that’s risen in my throat. “You died the night before that. But you’re here. You’re alive.”

            “I am. At least I think so. I don’t know. Maybe I _am_ dead. Maybe this is Hell.” His eyes spill over. I’ve only seen Tommy cry once, after getting the news that his father had passed away, and it made me feel more hopeless than I’ve ever felt my entire life. It’s not a sight I ever wanted to see again. “What’s going on, Adam?”

            His voice is higher than normal, pinched, like he’s desperate for an answer and his survival hinges on my ability to provide one. My hands rove over the blankets until I find his. I squeeze, probably too hard, but I’m too on edge to worry about it. “Tommy, listen to me. It’s a dream. You dying, Monte dying, this whole insane conversation we’re having now…all dreams. Just a figment of my sadistic imagination.”

            “It’s not.” Tommy shakes his head violently. “Unless we’re in the same dream.”

            “Of course you’d say that. That’s exactly what the sadistic, twisted Tommy in my dream world would say,” I accuse, and Jesus tap dancing Christ, those are the words of a lunatic.

            “Adam,” Tommy says, and he withdraws his hands from mine so that he can cup my jaw. “Can you feel me?”

            I stare into his brown eyes, blown open wide with fear. “Yes.” My voice is ragged and rough.

            “Do you believe that I’m here with you?”

            The warmth of his hands on my cheeks tells me that he’s real, and I finally let myself believe the fears rolling around in my head the past few days, the small details that have been nagging at me.

This is real. I can feel him; he can feel me. In dreams we can’t choose our fate, but I’ve been able to manipulate things this whole time. I’ve been able to change plans, keep Tommy safe, make decisions. He’s right. This isn’t a dream. “But if it’s not a dream, why do we keep repeating the same day? Do you think it’s happening to the others, too?”

            “Not that I can tell,” Tommy says. He releases my jaw but keeps his hands on me, sliding them down my body until they’re resting over my hands again. “I said something about it yesterday to Isaac and he looked at me like I was nuts. And when I asked Liz if she’d had déjà vu at all, she just acted like she pitied me.”

            “I told Monte I had a weird premonition about him and wanted him to stay inside the hotel tonight,” I admitted. “But he didn’t act like that was familiar to him. He was just concerned for me.”

            We’re both silent for a minute. The fragility I’ve been seeing in Tommy’s eyes is back, and now it seems stronger than ever. The need to protect him is so overwhelming I can barely stifle it. Especially not when he buries his head in his hands and breathes, “God, why is this happening?”

            I gather his small body in my arms and whisper almost hopefully, “Maybe someone slipped us something and we’re hallucinating.”

            “No. This is too real, Adam. I died. I died two nights ago. I died…I died tonight.”

            His voice has the tone of surrender and it makes me wince. “No, you didn’t, cause you’re here. So somehow that part can’t be real.”

            “It was real. There’s no way it couldn’t have been. I felt my bones break and my skull shatter against the pavement, Adam. God. It hurt. It hurt so bad I knew it was the end, I knew I wasn’t going to walk away. There’s no way that pain could have been imagined. No drug can do that.” His eyes, which had dried, began to fill again. “I was lying on the pavement and then suddenly it was like I was falling, or floating, then I woke up in Liz’s bed and the day started over again.”

            The words, “I woke up in Liz’s bed” feel like spears through my chest. She’s not his type, it’s not serious, whatever, whatever, whatever. But he was in her bed. Her fucking bed. He’s only slept in mine once, and only because his bus took off without him. Fucking shit, I hate this.

            Then it finally registers what he said, and I envision him lying broken on that country road and I suddenly don’t give a shit that he was in Liz’s bed. I gather fistfuls of his blond hair in my hands and pull him as close as I can get him, kissing him on the cheek. “Thank fuck you’re alive. I mean, this is crazy, but whatever it is, it’s the reason why you’re still here. Right? I’ll go through this day a million times if it means you don’t have to die.”

            “But Adam, it means someone else does.”

            For a second my heart stops beating. I pull back from him so that I can see him. His perfect skin is blotchy from his tears, and there’s leftover eyeliner from the night before smudged underneath his lashes. He’s still gorgeous.

            “What do you mean, it means someone else does?”

            He looks away from me, as if ashamed to meet my eye. “The day repeated. I was supposed to be in a car on that road, and another car was supposed to crash into it. But we stayed in. You made everyone stay and I was just fine with that because…because I had this crazy thought that if I just made it through the night, everything would be alright. We’d wake up on September twenty-second and everything would be the way it should be. I could chalk it up to some weird glitch in my brain, or the space-time continuum or something. But then Monte got into a car and drove on that country road and a drunk driver hit him, and I was supposed to be the one in the car, Adam. I was the one who was supposed to die.”

            “But obviously not, or you would have stayed dead,” I argue.

            “But I didn’t. And someone else died in my place.”

            If I hadn’t been naked under the blankets I would have stood so I could be fully upright while I raged at him. “No. That doesn’t even make sense, Tommy. What are you trying to say? That the Universe or the grim reaper or…fate or something, is going to take souls indiscriminately until it’s got the right one?”

            “It’s not indiscriminate, Adam,” Tommy says. “But I think…I think maybe you’re partially right. I think maybe it was my time, but since I didn’t die, time’s like, stopped or something. And until it, or death or fate whatever, gets me, time’s just paused.”

            “That’s ridiculous,” I huff.

            Tommy snatches his hand away from mine. “Fine, then you find a different reason why this is happening, cause hell if I know.”

            “Sorry, sorry,” I say and kick myself for being such a dick. I look away from him and pull the covers tighter around myself, trying to fight the sudden chill in the air. I wipe at my eyes again. “I just can’t talk about you dying, okay? God, Tommy…I can’t even think about it. The other night, when Sasha told me you were gone…I just shut down. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t believe it. I just wanted to die right along with you because that was the only thing that made sense. Going with you was the only thing that made any sense, because, Jesus, Tommy…”

            I pause because the words I should say get all tangled up in the words that I want to say, which are “I love you and I won’t live without you.”

            “You just mean a lot to me, okay? You…you kind of became my best friend, you know? Yeah, there’s Monte and Brad, who gets me like no one else but you…” My thoughts trail off with the sound of my voice. “That explanation doesn’t work for me because it means you have to die, and that’s just not going to happen. I’ll repeat this day until eternity because that is just not going to happen.”

            Tommy’s lips part. It’s a smile but a strange one. An expectant one. It reminds me of Monte’s secret-of-life expression for some reason. Then, suddenly, he’s on my lap, his arms locked tightly around my neck, his cheek pressed against mine. He whispers in my ear. “You mean that, don’t you?”

            “Yes,” I say. “Of course. I’m not going to let you die. Grim reaper or fate or whatever can fuck off.”

            “No,” Tommy pulls back, chuckling but half in tears again. “About how much I mean to you.”

            His face is so close to mine it’s taking everything I’ve got not to kiss him. What’s even worse is that every thought I’ve ever had about him wants to fall from my lips like a god damned torrential downpour. All the I’m-in-love-with-you’s and the please-try-this-with-me’s are just chomping at the bit to burst free.

            I swallow them down and the aftertaste is sour. I try to keep my words distant, even if my thoughts aren’t. “You mean a lot to me, yes. You’re in the Glamily. I’d do the same for any of my friends.”

            His face crumples as if I’ve just told him he’s ugly, and as I’m dazedly trying to figure out what I’ve said that could have possibly made him have that reaction, we hear the bus door open and Monte calls our names.

            Tommy scrambles off my lap and stands, wobbly, by the bed. He’s flushed. I wonder if he’s embarrassed that he was sitting on me, with Monte a second away from catching him. My chest aches at that. It’s true that we touch more on stage than off, and that most of our affection is for show. But we don’t shy away from it either. He’s never pushed me away before; he’s never seemed ashamed of touching me before. It’s not like him, and it cuts deep.

“In here!” he calls to Monte, and offers him a too bright smile when Monte opens the door.

Monte looks at Tommy, then to me, his eyebrows in a V of concern on his forehead. “Feeling any better?”

I shrug. “I’ll feel better if you tell me you brought me pancakes.”

“Chocolate chip ones. And blueberry for Tommy.”

“And bacon and sausage,” another voice says, and Isaac ducks into my lair, grinning. He holds up two takeout bags in one hand and what looks like a small keg in the other. “And coffee.”

“Marry me. Both of you. Have my babies.”

Monte snorts at me when I say that. “I’ve got too many kids already, Lambert. Find another baby mama.”

I sigh histrionically. “Fine, but get out so I can get dressed. There’s no way I’m going to sit here eating breakfast naked with all of you. Especially if that bacon’s hot.”

There’s some teasing and groaning but they leave. Only Tommy hangs back.

“I wasn’t joking about needing to put clothes on,” I say dryly, and fuck, it’s like I’ve kicked a hurt puppy. He squeezes his eyes shut and bites down on his bottom lip so hard it turns white.

“I know. I just… I don’t know what to do.” He wrings his fingers out and I really can’t stand how hurt he looks, how scared.

“Let’s eat and try to pretend like we haven’t lived through this day twice, then when Monte and Isaac go back to their bus we can talk, okay?”

He nods slowly.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll be okay, Tommy.”

He nods again, this time even less believably, and I’m sure it’s because he heard the doubt in my voice. I’m not a good enough actor to hide the fact that I’m freaked out and confused and angry and so fucking scared. I want to get up and hug him, squeeze him tight until we’re both convinced it’ll be okay, but I’m still  naked under the blankets. Tommy reaches for the door anyways and exits, and I stare at the back of it for a long minute after it closes.

            I collapse back into the bed and resist the urge to scream. I’m repeating the same day over and over, Tommy seems to think he has to die, and on top of that, there’s something completely off between us.

            Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is Hell.

 

*

 

            Tommy curls his tiny body against mine and we lean against the headboard of my bed. Though this is when I’m supposed to check Twitter and all that, I’m not in the mood now. I’m certainly not in the mood to lie to my fans, or even make some clumsy snap at their assumptions. I’m stuffed with coffee and bacon, and between the full tummy and Tommy’s warmth, my eyes are drooping. It’s at least two hours until we get to the venue, plenty of time for a nap.

            You know, if we didn’t have to discuss the fact that time seems to have stopped and Tommy’s convinced he’s going to have to die.

            “Think they noticed anything?” he whispers.

            I think of the way Isaac and Monte had chattered and laughed as we ate the greasy breakfast. Even though Monte had snuck a few worried glances in my direction, there’d been virtually no indication that something was amiss.

            “No. That was some pretty fantastic acting, Tommy Joe,” I say, and squeeze his thin shoulders under my arm.

            He snorts. “I’m a shit actor.”

            “Please, you’ve read the fanfics. I’d say you’ve fooled a few people.”

            One side of his mouth turns up and he shrugs. “Maybe.” A couple beats of silence pass between us, in which I can hear the dancers laughing outside my door and the soothing rotation of the wheels. “What do we do?”

            My fingers thread through his hair. It’s so fine but there’s so much of it, and it reminds me of how the hair on Monte’s babies felt when I got to hold them last time I visited. I could spend the rest of my life touching his hair, happily, if not for that whole pesky need to eat and sleep.

            “We stay in tonight. We have the party. We keep an eye on everyone and make it clear that no one leaves. I don’t care how nuts it sounds. Monte’s promised me he’d stay, so that takes care of that problem, and I don’t see any reason why anyone else would leave.” I pull a little on his hair and lead his head back to my shoulder. “I think… I think maybe you have it wrong. I don’t think anyone was supposed to die at all, and that’s why time’s stopped. So as long as we can keep everyone safe, time will continue.”

            Tommy shakes his head against me, but I ignore it.

            “What time… I mean, what time was it, that first night, that the car hit you?” I can’t bring myself to ask when he died.

            He snuggles in closer. Tighter. Warmer. Softer. “We left the theater around midnight, I think. Maybe a little earlier.” He pauses. “Yeah, it was a little earlier, cause I remember looking at the clock on the dashboard and thinking it wasn’t even the witching hour yet.”

            I nod. I don’t know why, but it makes sense in my head. Midnight is a new day, a new start – when the do-over begins.

            “So we just need to make it past midnight. If we all make it past midnight, we’ll all be okay, I’m sure of it,” I say, and for the first time in a while, my voice sounds full of conviction. “And tomorrow will actually be tomorrow.”

            Tommy shakes his head again. “I just don’t think that’s what’s supposed to happen, Adam. I think it _was_ my time.”

            “Why?” I ask and at the same time, fear spikes cold and fast in my chest. “Why would you say that?”

            Tommy pushes himself up, away from me, so that he’s facing me. His pretty hair falls into his face and I don’t have enough self-control to stop myself from reaching out and tucking it behind his ear. He smiles a bit at that, though his eyes are wet again. “Adam…when I was dying, I mean…when I was lying there on the pavement in all that pain, I felt myself drift off. It was like…like floating or something.”

            I nod. I know that feeling. I’ve dreamed it twice now. “Like you were suspended?”

            His mouth widens in surprise. “Yes, exactly like that. And I could hear everything around me. Isaac yelling to everyone to see if they were alright, the screams when they realized I wasn’t in the car, Allison leaning over me and asking if I could hear her, all of that. But I was drifting too, and I started seeing things. My mom, and Chantala, and the concerts and…”

            He swallows hard and I lean in close. “And what?”

            Tommy licks his lips and lowers his gaze. “I decided I didn’t want it to end. That I wasn’t ready to die. So…I asked for more time. I begged for more time.”

            He looks straight at me then, and there are tears stuck in his eyelashes. “Adam, I don’t believe in God. I don’t even believe in the power of karma or the Universe or whatever like you do. You know that. I think it’s all bullshit. But in that moment it didn’t seem to matter, and I found myself begging anyone or anything that would listen, cause I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to leave all this behind. Maybe that’s what praying feels like. Was I praying?”

            “I don’t know. I can’t remember the last time I prayed,” I confess, though I know it must have been before I started hating Hebrew school, so easily twenty years ago. And I hadn’t consciously addressed the Universe in months.

            Tommy reaches up and wipes away the tears that have disloyally fallen onto his cheeks. “Well, whatever it was, I think something was listening. Because I’m getting more time, right? In this completely fucked up way, I’m getting more time.”

            I stare at him for what seems like an eternity, processing his words, before taking his face in my hands. “Tommy, I’m sure every person in the world has the same thoughts before they die. I’m positive. And I’m also sure that not every person in the world gets stuck in time like you have, especially not with their best friend as well. There’s something else going on here. If you were meant to die, you would have died. If there’s a second chance here, it’s just the chance to keep everyone from dying this time through. Period.”

            He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t believe that, Adam. I’m sorry. That’s not what I felt that night.”

            “Tommy, I’ve already told you that that’s not an acceptable answer to me, so I don’t really give a fuck what you think. That won’t work because that means you have to die and I…” Shit. My voice cracked. I hold up a hand to stop the protests I see forming on his lips from coming out and close my eyes for extra protection. “I cannot lose you. Do you understand me? I cannot lose you, Tommy. And I won’t.”

            I keep my hand up, silencing him. The boss has spoken. End of discussion.

            Either he’s tired of arguing about it or he knows I’m past the point of arguing, because his shoulders slump and he leans himself against me and the headboard again, resting his head on my chest.

            “I hope you’re right, Adam,” is all he says, and we go back to listening to the dancers laugh and the wheels turn. We don’t move, and I can feel his heart thumping inside his chest. It’s the most fucking reassuring thing I’ve ever felt, and the thought of that heart ceasing to beat makes my throat constrict.

            “Tommy,” I say thickly. He lifts his head. “I think I need to sleep. I’m tired, and I just can’t think anymore…my thoughts are so…”

            I don’t finish, but he nods at me like he understands. “Can I stay? If we’re going to keep an eye on everyone until midnight, I’m gonna need some rest.”

            In answer, I lift the covers up and we both wiggle underneath them. He settles against me, almost around me. Our feet twine together, his arm encircles my stomach, and his head finds its home on my chest. I tell myself not to think about how well he fits, how right it feels, but it’s like telling someone not to think about an elephant. Elephants are all you can fucking think about.

            “Thank you,” he mumbles into my t-shirt, and I’m not quite sure what he’s thanking me for, so I answer to all of the possibilities.

            “Anytime.”

            We move closer, closing any gaps between our bodies, and I fall asleep with a smile on my face. Twice he’s slept in my bed. Liz can bite me.

 

*

 

            Acting normal when time has stopped and your closest friends keep dying is surprisingly easy. I guess I got more out of my acting classes than I thought.

            As I watch Neil do his job with practiced ease, my smile even feels genuine. Inside, however, I’m doing nothing but repeating this mantra: “Don’t act weird. Don’t let anyone die.”

            Suddenly Neil’s beside me, handing me a cup of tea. I take a sip. Chamomile with tons of honey. I know what comes next. He asks about Mom’s birthday, I express my thoughts, however badly, about giving up days on the UK leg of the tour and about Eber. Dad, whatever. We argue. He chalks it up to me being sad about Tommy and/or reminds me for the billionth time that I wasn’t around when our parents got divorced and that he suffered the blunt of it.

            I take another sip of tea and make up my mind not to go down that road today.

            “So Mom’s birthday’s coming up.”

            I nod. “We’ll be in London that week.”

            “Yeah. Think we could fly back for a day, surprise her?”

            I take off the lid of the tea and blow to cool it down. “No.”

            “Why not?” he asks and I can hear the argument starting in his voice already.

            I turn to my brother. His brown eyes are challenging me, daring me to argue.

            Here’s the thing about Neil, and if he ever finds out I think this, I’m toast. Neil is almost always right. Yes, he can be hasty and opinionated and stubborn to a fault, but he’s always loyal, he’s always sincere, and he is the smartest person I know besides my father. There’s no doubt that Neil got the lion’s share of brains between the two of us. And in spite of his claims to be a badass motherfucker who doesn’t give a shit about others, Neil’s moral compass is always pointing north. If he tells you you’re making a mistake, you are. If he calls a bullshit on you, you’d better come clean. If he says we should be there with Mom on her birthday, we should.

            “Not good enough,” I say, and take another sip of the much cooler tea. “She’s wanted to see London forever. Let’s just take her along. Have a birthday week instead of a day. I mean, we’ll be busy, but when we’re not, it’s Leila time. What do you think?”

            I can tell he’s floored because he blinks once before responding. “Will Lane let you do that?”

            “Fuck Lane,” I spit, then smile. “Besides, if I play the mommy card, what can she do?”

            Neil chuckles at that, then calls out to a roadie and tells him not to bother with a certain cord or something – I still don’t have a clue what he’s talking about – then he turns back to me. “I feel silly. I thought you were going to tell me we’d have to celebrate her birthday when we got back, or some other lame shit.”

            I shrug. “It’s Mom. She put up with two hyperactive, argumentative children her whole life. She deserves a day or two where we aren’t assholes.”

            “Speak for yourself,” he mutters good-naturedly, then turns back to watch his underlings work the sound equipment. “Do you suppose Dad could—”

            “Don’t press it, Neil. I’m not in _that_ giving of a mood.” He stiffens beside me, but like Tommy before, it’s as if he recognizes that this is closed for discussion. “Eber can fly himself to London if his bimbo of the month allows it.”

            “It’s Heather, and she’s been around for two years.”

            I sigh. “I know. Sorry. I’m not in a good mood.”

            “Shouldn’t you be? I heard you and Tommy were all snuggled up in the lair.”

            “I was having a bad morning and he was there for me.” I scowl into the tea. “Pervert.”

            “Oh, yeah, like I’m so off to assume a tiny, androgynous blond in your bed means sex.”

            I wrinkle my nose, although that totally makes me proud inside. “Speaking of… tonight at the party, let’s just make it about us, okay?”

            Neil feigns shock, jaw dropping and eyes widening in an expression of pure surprise. “Adam Mitchell Lambert, are you actually telling me you don’t want groupies tonight?”

            “I’m saying that it’s okay to invite some people, but perhaps dropping the hint that they have no chance might not be a bad idea.” I smirk, and Neil returns that with one of his own, and it reminds me of Eber. In a good way. “And yes, I just implied that I’m not in the mood for sex.”

            “Christ, someone check the pigs for wings.”

            “Fuck off, Neil. Like you haven’t had your fair share of ass on this tour.”

            His grin is cocky as hell. “Yeah, thanks for that, big bro.”

            “Just don’t tarnish the good name of Lambert, that’s all I ask.” I put the lid back on my tea. “Mom raised us to be gentlemen. Buy them breakfast, tell them you’ll call. That sort of thing.”

            “I’ll do my best.” He salutes then leaves me to hop up onstage, delivering efficient instructions to the crew. Since there’s nothing for me to do here, I take the stairs under the stage and make my way into the labyrinth of corridors below. When I open the door to my dressing room and Tommy’s inside, the relief I feel at the sight of him makes me feel weightless. Like I’m floating.

            He’s curled up on the faux leather couch in the room, arms underneath his head, his body as small as I’ve ever seen it get. He has Sia playing today, a song I put on his iPod for him called My Love. His eyes flick up to me, and there it is again. Fear, sadness, a little expectance – the strange mix that creates fragility. “Everything okay?” he asks, voice coarse.

            “Yeah. I mean, besides the obvious?”

            He snorts softly. “Yeah.”

            “Everything’s fine. Are you okay?”

            He doesn’t answer, but he curls even more into himself, the faux leather groaning with his movement. “What if it doesn’t work, Adam?”

            I want to tell him that I’m terrified it might not, that we might have this all wrong – that regardless of our efforts, someone’s going to die tonight. But that’s not my role here. My role is to protect Tommy, to ease his fears, to be confident that we are far stronger than fate or the Universe or a god neither of us know.

            “It will work,” I say in measured tones. I hold out my hand, palm up, to him. “Come on. Get up. You told Monte to go get booze with Isaac, right?” Tommy folds his little hand in mine and lets himself be pulled to his feet. “Yeah. I didn’t figure you’d let me out of here.”

  


            “Good boy,” I say, and I’m only slightly joking. I’m glad he understands I’m in charge, at least of this. “We’ll need to keep sober, though. As much as a drink might calm our nerves.”  

     

            Tommy’s smile is lopsided. “Maybe one?”

            I raise a brow. “One.” I pause to think and amend that. “Two, tops.”

            Tommy giggles at that and it’s like the sound of wind chimes, or church bells. It fills my gut with a warmth that spreads quickly through my blood.

            “Get out your guitar, you can help me warm up.”

            Tommy’s smile drops and he sucks in a breath. “You want me to play guitar for you?”

            Yes, Tommy’s my bassist but he’s first and foremost a guitarist. And I’ll admit, if I ask someone to play for me it’s usually Monte, or Cam if the guitars aren’t lying around. But today I want to make music with him. I want my voice wrapping around each note plucked by his fingers, I want his eyes on mine as I do the thing I love doing most, I want his presence next to me to guide me through each rise and fall of the melody.

            We make music together for well over an hour. We play through my favorites; I sing some at his request, songs I never would have thought of for myself. Songs I’d never even attempt because there’s no way I could possibly do them justice, though by the end Tommy says I’ve conquered the original each time.

            I shake my head in response to his latest request. “No one can sing Buckley better than Buckley,” I say nearly miserably, but he sets his fingers on the strings and strums the chords in the blues progression of the song.

            “Except for you,” he replies, and I plunge into I Want Someone Badly with him, and he’s fucking right. The song fits my voice better than I could have imagined, and his playing pushes my voice forward. My voice pushes his playing, too, and the song morphs into something completely of our own creation. I follow the shifts of his chords, major to minor, suspended fourths and augmented fifths, the cluster of a second or the drive of a seventh, and I add the words. When we’re done, my voice feels more stretched and used than it has in a long time, my face hurts from grinning so much, and I’m in that lovely zone where all I want to do is create and express and explore.

            “We need to write together,” I say suddenly, and Tommy’s fingers slide down the neck of the guitar in a smooth glissando before dropping off the fret board completely with that tuneful scratching sound. Christ, I love that sound. That sound, the sound of drumsticks clattering, of the initial feedback in the monitors, of the thunder of thousands of people dancing to the beat – these are the sounds I’ve fallen in love with on this tour. These are the sounds that tell me this is real, this is happening, and I’m doing this with the best people in existence.

            Tommy’s face is flushed, his gorgeous mouth parted in surprise. “I don’t know if I’m very good at it. I mean, I really haven’t written that much before. But I think I could for your voice. I mean, I have ideas. Lots of ideas that, I don’t know…melodies sometimes come to me when you’re singing or…when we’re just…you and I…”

            I nod, but I’ve kind of stopped listening. My brain is already going through my schedule, trying to think of times that I could sit down for a whole day with Tommy and just make music. We’re good at this, so good, and my gut is telling me that this is the right direction, that the next album will be of our creation – mine and the band’s. I have to tell Monte this, I have to tell everyone this, and soon, or I’m going to burst from the awesomeness of this epiphany.

            “I don’t think I’m any good at it either, but it seems so easy with you. I think we could do this, Tommy. Maybe… maybe I won’t need Gaga or anyone else on this album. Maybe it can just be us.”

            He looks terrified, if not overwhelmed. But a smile slowly creeps into his face, replacing those emotions with certainty. “Yeah, we can. With you and me and Monte. And Cam. Shit. Cam’s genius with writing. If we, um… if we all get through this night, we should do that.”

            I feel suddenly like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me, and my shoulders collapse to prove it. “Right. We’ll get through it. We have to.”

            I push myself up from the couch and reach into my pocket. My future has had all kinds of different incarnations in my head. It’s been filled with money and fame and wild nights, of settling down with someone I love and filling a house with children, of spending my days like a true artist and renouncing my success and giving interviews about making my sound “more organic.” But never, not once, had I considered a future without my band. Without Tommy. And not even in my darkest thoughts, thoughts where the paparazzi drives me insane or I end up playing Vegas like a sad old diva, had I once considered that I might not have a future.

            And that thought makes my world go slanty in my head, and everything’s a little off balance. So it makes sense that as I pull out my phone, I hit the speed dial for the one person who has always centered me.

            Well, almost always.

            “Sorry,” I apologize to Tommy while the phone dials. “I, uh, just need to make a phone call.”

            Tommy studies me, brows fused together in the center of his forehead. “Brad?”

            I nod, almost embarrassed. “Don’t know why. Just need to hear his voice right now.”

            “Right,” Tommy whispers, but his expression doesn’t change. It still looks confused, maybe a little pissed. “I’m sure you do. I’ll just…um. I’ll just get going.”

            “Don’t bother,” I say as he starts to stand. “I’m headed out to the stage. Check out the venue, that sort of thing.”

            I’m halfway out of the room when Brad answers on the first ring.

            “Wondered when you’d call, babe. You crying yet?”

            I push open a side door that leads to the stage and take a few steps into the lonely hallway. “Yes,” I answer, and as soon as I say the word, my eyes fill.

            Brad hums in that pretty voice of his. “I figured. That’s what you do. I’ll never forget that last night of Wicked. You passed out drunk while sobbing hysterically all over my shirt, which I’ve never managed to get the makeup stains out of, by the way.”

            I close my eyes and remember it too. Not just the act of crying and the feelings I had when I left Wicked, but the way his arms felt around my body as I cried. The way he stroked my hair and rubbed my back and whispered loving things into my ear. The way it felt to know that he was there and he loved me, now and always. I was so sure of his support then, so sure that the two of us would always be together and in love and happy.

            Always, as it turns out, is sometimes merely hyperbole.

            “You should be here,” I say, a bit on the whiny side, as I sit on the edge of the stage. “You’d love it. Everyone would love you, as if they don’t already. God, Brad. You should have said yes.”

            I hear him inhale, though he doesn’t answer for a while, and in the downtime I kick myself for saying it. These past few days… I mean, shit. Is it not enough that my friends are dying? Why do I have to keep making everyone uncomfortable on top of it? Why can’t I just keep my damn mouth shut?

            “You know,” Brad says, and I focus on his voice. “I’ve been wondering about my choice every day since you started this tour. I still don’t know if I made the right one.”

            “Don’t worry about it. I was just being stupid.” I glance at the rainclouds overheard as if they can help dig me out of this. “I mean, I’d love to have you here, but I understand. You want this on your own. And you’ll get it. You don’t need my publicity at all. And someday we’ll tour together. The fucking glitteriest tour in history.”

            He doesn’t even chuckle at that. Instead, there’s the familiar sound of a glass door sliding shut and then faint sounds of traffic. Sounds that I’m used to. Sounds of our apartment. He’s sitting outside on the tiny balcony now, away from Cassidy’s ears. And I only know Cassidy’s there because of yesterday, and the day before. And he’s not going to tell me Cassidy’s there now. “It’s not missing out on the free publicity that I’m worried about. Adam…did I give up a chance with you by not coming along?”

            The question makes everything stop: my thoughts, my breathing, even my heart for a second. It’s not fear of the answer or fear of hurting him that halts me, it’s panic. I actually have no idea if he gave up another shot at us by not coming along. Even when I’d asked him months ago, I wasn’t sure what I was offering him, other than a spot on a crowded bus and to share my fans. Had I wanted him there for his support or something more? For the way he makes me laugh until my stomach hurts or the way he kisses me crazy? And if I didn’t want more than friendship from him, why was that? Was it out of fear, out of the hurt he’s inflicted on me before, or was I just not in love with him anymore?

            “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself,” I confess, but the more I search myself for an answer, the clearer it becomes. Brad doesn’t know that yesterday he told me he’d been sleeping with Cassidy the last time we’d been together. Whether or not it’s fair to use that against him, it’s there regardless. He didn’t tell me about Cassidy that weekend, another secret kept from me. Just like he kept his addiction from me; just like he didn’t tell me about the boy he’d been sleeping with for a month before we broke up…the boy that fucked him on our bed…the bed we’d shared for almost two years…

            “No, Brad,” I conclude, and even though it’s out loud and addressed to him, it’s more to myself. “I don’t think you gave up a chance at all.”

            He sniffs, and when he speaks again his voice is quiet. Detached. And I know he’s pulling into himself, putting up walls, shielding himself from my punches. “Are you saying that because you think there’s still a chance, or because you don’t think there will ever be a chance again?”

            I don’t know the answer to that either. Sometimes the anger is still as sharp as the night I walked in on him cheating, but I have no idea what would remain if it went away. Underneath that hurt, will I find love or indifference?

            I take too long to answer him, and he’s already drawn his own conclusions. His voice is sharp, snappy. “I don’t know how I can apologize anymore, Adam. I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. I know I was out of control and dishonest. I was sinking, and I was lost, and I wasn’t myself. But I still loved you. Christ, I loved you. Still love you. And I wish you’d just forgive me and maybe let me have another chance, because you are the only thing that makes sense to me. And I need to be with you.”

            I lie back on the stage floor and watch the clouds move slowly overhead. “I’m not asking for another apology.”

            “Is there nothing I can do?” I notice for the first time, then, not just tones of sadness and frustration and regret, but notes of fatigue mingling in, joining the chorus of emotion. “Adam, if you’re never going to be able to forgive me, you need to tell me that. Then I can get the hell out of your life for good. Because even if you don’t want me back, I can’t keep on being friends like this… sometimes more… if you’re still holding on to this.”

            My heart is heavy. It feels as though it’s chained and straining against the weight, like the ghost of Jacob Marley. And I know if I could just say the words, the chains would fall away and I could be free, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve been dragging around the cumbersome nightmares of his addiction and his infidelity for years now, like ever-present wounds, and they’re too much a part of me now. They’re too important to who I am; they remind me that I’ve learned a very significant lesson, the lesson that the ones you love the most can hurt you the most.

            “Why didn’t you tell me you were sleeping with Cassidy when I was home last month?”

            The question isn’t even angry. Not really. I just genuinely want to know because even as I’m clinging to this grudge, I love him, and I want a reason to throw off the chains, and I want him to give me a good reason that I can really believe.

            “How did you know?”

            I roll my head against the stage floor. “Does it matter?”

            “It’s not serious. We’re not even really together. We just… I don’t know.”

            “He’s there.”

            “Yes,” Brad breathes. “He’s here. He’s good company, you know? We have similar goals. And he makes me laugh. And fuck, Adam. I guess we’re both tired of one night stands and waking up alone.”

            The wind picks up, and I can almost taste the rain. “And I get that. So why would you keep it from me?”

            “Because…” he starts, and I hear him push a breath out. “Because you know, Adam, you _know_ he’s not important. And telling you might have meant he was important and I didn’t want you to think that because…if you thought that you’d be noble and not try to be with me again. And that whole weekend I just…I don’t know. I thought you were there because you wanted me back. I thought you’d forgiven me, and you were finally going to ask for me back.”

            Jesus fuck. That weekend I’d thought very little about the future. I was just happy to be home and to feel someone’s touch again, someone familiar anyway. And it was so easy to slip into his familiar arms, familiar _welcoming_ arms, because there was a difference. It was such a relief to be wanted, to have my feelings echoed and returned, to know that all the promises and flirting and ‘what ifs’ could actually lead somewhere. Hell, after a few weeks on the road with Tommy always cuddling up to me and show after show of fanservice, Brad’s real need for me had nearly saved my sanity.

            “Shit,” I mumble into the phone, and Brad asks for me to repeat myself. I don’t want to tell him what I’d been thinking, because all it will sound like is that I relieved a chronic case of blue balls with him. But he simply wouldn’t understand what it feels like to have someone you want so badly just out of reach, constantly.

            Or maybe he would.

            “I’m sorry, Brad. I don’t think I understood until now how heavy that weekend was for us. I didn’t mean to—”

            “Don’t,” Brad interjects. “I know I’m just reading between the lines, Adam. You don’t have to explain anything. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Cass. I should have told you about Cass. He’s here now. He’s cooking us dinner and then we’re going to hit the clubs. Or maybe see a movie. We can’t decide. The one with Ben Affleck looks pretty awful, but…”

            “It’s Ben Affleck,” I finish for him.

            “Exactly.” He’s silent for a few moments, and in that silence something happens, because when he speaks again, his voice is shaking and flimsy. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m so sorry about that night, Adam. About everything. I know you don’t want another apology, but I want to, because I’m still so…so fucking sorry. And I miss you so fucking much.”

            I feel a drop of rain hit my face, and I look back up into the sky. I don’t remember it raining the first or second time through this day, but maybe I wasn’t paying attention.

            But no other drops fall, and I wonder how I was lucky enough to get hit with the only drop of rain that fell from the sky.

            “Adam, I want you to forgive me.”

            My attention centers on Brad’s voice again, and I shut my eyes once more. “I want to forgive you too.” Somewhere off stage left, a door opens and the sound of Allison’s raspy alto fills the theater. I sit up and look over at them. Tommy sees me right away and presses a finger to Ally’s lips to shush her, pointing at me. He smiles softly at me, warmly, if not a little sadly, that fragility all over again. He’s absolutely gorgeous in the dim light of the overcast sky, like his fair skin and blond hair glow against the dinginess of the day. Once again I feel weightless looking at him, and I nearly laugh maniacally at that. Just minutes ago I was chained to pain and regret, heavy as the world on Atlas’ shoulders, and now I’m floating.

            “Brad, I have to go. We need to do sound checks.”

            He makes me promise to call him tomorrow, and I can only hope my promise isn’t in vain. I slide the phone in my pocket, stand, and walk to Ally and Tommy.

            “Everything alright?” he asks, and I catch a note of trepidation in his voice.

            I nod. “It’s the same as it always has been.” I wink at Ally. “I need to go warm up. You two have fun sharing secrets.”

Ally’s giggling as I exit, and Monte and Isaac are stumbling down the hall towards the door, laughing like idiots. I duck into a different corridor to avoid them and wind my way back to my makeup room. I stare at the pile of stuff on my makeup counter, taking note that the red lipstick isn’t there. I figure out what happened to it during the opening strains of Voodoo. I step out of the darkness and into the spotlight, and Tommy looks up at me and licks those ruby lips and I wonder how on earth I’ll be able to stop kissing him.

 

*

 

            I’m late to my own party. Well, to the party I’m throwing for Allison. I spent a bit too long in front of the mirror in my dressing room, giving myself a pep talk. I didn’t leave until I had convinced myself that everything was going to be alright, that everyone would survive the night and my heartbeat was at a slow and steady pace.

            Then I spent a few more minutes remembering the way Tommy’s lips had slid down my finger, leaving a trail of ruby red lipstick behind. Then, of course, remembering the way his mouth melded to mine when the lights went out and we sank into each other desperately, as if we were the only things anchoring ourselves to sanity.

            Of all of our kisses, that was the most real it’s ever felt. I know he’s just scared, he’s just looking for sanctuary, he’s just showing me that he’s here for me too, but it felt like a real kiss. It felt like he wanted me. It most definitely felt like he needed me.

            So then I had to spend a few minutes calming myself the fuck down. By the time I arrive at the hotel, almost a half hour behind the other buses, the party is in full swing. Neil’s done a great job of inviting just the right amount of fans, and they’re mingling with my dancers on the makeshift dance floor or chatting with the band.

            Tommy’s in the corner with Liz and they’re whispering into each other’s ears. They both look serious and my stomach cramps up while I look at them. How many times has he said she’s not really his type? Not glittery enough? And I know it, I can hear his words ringing over and over in my head, but I hate the way her hand is on his knee, fingertips making small circles on his dark jeans. And I hate the way he’s looking at her as if there’s no one else in the room.

            But then he does turn and look at me, and his eyes tell me about a hundred things all at once, clear as day.

            “We’ll be okay,” I mouth to him, and the corners of his lips turn up for a split second before he tears his eyes from mine and looks at Liz again.

            I get a drink from the bar, something light on vodka and heavy on cranberry, and start to circulate. When I reach Monte I pause for more than just a casual hello. He wraps his big arms around me and whispers, “You feeling better?”

            “Yeah, thanks,” I say and shrug sheepishly. “How pissed is Lisa that you didn’t come home tonight?”

            Monte purses his lips together before answering. “I’m definitely not getting any while I’m home. Then I’ll be gone for two months. You bastard.”

            “I’m an asshole,” I joke, even though the whole reason for this is actually very altruistic of me. Well, altruistic while being a bit selfish, if that’s even possible.

            “Looks like you don’t have to go without, though.”

            “What?” I ask and turn in the direction Monte’s nodding in. Josh – pretty, groupie Josh – is walking toward me, and his eyes travel the length of my body before coming back up and looking straight into mine.

The memories from the first night – what his mouth felt like wrapped around my cock, how his tight body took me in – all come rushing back and I feel a strange, slightly nauseous feeling grip my body.

“Hey,” he says to me in a kind of purring voice. “I’m Josh.”

Of course it is, I almost say. “Hi. I’m Adam.”

His grin is somehow both submissive and predatory. “I know.”

“Right,” I say, because of course he knows that. But god damn it, it’s just polite to offer a name, regardless.

“Great show tonight.” His hand moves to my side, tracing over ribs. The slight touch reminds me of the way Tommy’s fingers wound tightly into my shirt while we kissed onstage, pressing into my bones hard enough to bruise. And that makes my whole body feel light. Drunk.

I look over Josh’s head toward the corner, where Tommy and Liz are still talking, heads bent close to each other in an intimate exchange. Everyone’s here and I gave everyone within earshot backstage before the concert orders that they weren’t to leave the party. At least until I’d said so. And we are all here, we are all in this one big room, laughing and drinking and having a good time and there’s no reason why anyone in this room would die. No good reason. So it’s beyond me why I keep looking for Tommy, just to make sure he’s still there.

            I look at Josh and feel something almost like pity for him. It must take a lot of guts to approach Adam Fucking Lambert, rumored sex god. But he also has no idea that we’ve done this dance twice now, and I’m really kind of bored with him, talented mouth or no.

“Want to go somewhere else?” he asks, and he presses his small body against mine. “I figured you might need some attention after that show. If I had to put up with that pretty boy teasing me night after night, I’d be out of my mind. I admire your self-control.”

I glance over at Tommy again, but he’s gone. My eyes search the room while I answer Josh. “Not really a question of self-control. It really is all stage gay.”

“Sure,” Josh says, like he doesn’t believe that for a minute, and suddenly I can’t wait to get rid of him.

Jesus, Neil might be right to check the pigs for wings. I have a pretty boy wrapped around me, practically begging me to fuck him, and my dick hasn’t even so much twitched in interest.

I reach down and take Josh’s hand in mine, pulling him backward and out of the embrace of the crowd. He has a triumphant little smirk on his face, but his eyes don’t impart the same confidence. I’m not sure if he’s fearful of me or rejection, and I don’t think I want to know the answer.

“Josh,” I begin, voice soft as can be, “you’re really attractive. Any other day, really, _any_ other day, I’d pull you back into my bedroom and—”

“Really? Jesus, Adam, tonight?”

It’s Tommy who cuts me off, and he’s walking toward me, hands at his sides in tight fists. The look on his face is the same as it was in my dressing room that first night of this whole thing, disappointment and ‘whatever’ and ‘fuck you’ all rolled into one.

“What?” I demand without even a hint of friendliness.

Tommy stops right in front of me and lowers his voice to a growl. “I need you keeping a lookout with me.”

“I’m going to,” I hiss right back. “I was just saying goodnight.”

Tommy glances at my hand wrapped around Josh’s and rolls his eyes. “Right.”

            I feel my temper and my blood pressure spike. I squeeze Josh’s hand and turn to him. “As I was saying, Josh. Tonight’s not a good night for me. I have other things I have to take care of.”

            Josh glares at Tommy as if he thinks Tommy is one of those ‘other things’ and slinks off, leaving me and Tommy in the little hallway next to my bedroom.

            “Satisfied?” I ask, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes at Tommy. “Like I said, I was just saying goodnight. _Trying_ to let him down easy.”

            “Sure,” Tommy says and turns to go. I reach out quick as a whip and grab his elbow.

            “What?” I demand again. “You don’t believe me? You think I was just going to leave you alone through this while I went off to fuck some groupie?” When he doesn’t answer, my grip on his elbow tightens to painful. “Come on, Tommy Joe. If you’ve got something to say, say it. Don’t be a fucking coward.”

            “I’m not a fucking coward,” he says through gritted teeth and shoves out of my hold on him. “Excuse me for thinking you weren’t going to turn down a groupie. I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

            I feel the muscles in my jaw tense and Tommy gets all wide-eyed like he’s actually a little frightened of me. And I don’t blame him. I snarl in reply. “If you weren’t my employee, I’d slap you across your fucking face right now. Where the hell is this self-righteous bullshit coming from, huh? It’s not like you haven’t slept around this entire tour.”

            The strange thing is, even as I say it, my brain begins to put things together. It’s been a solid two months since I’ve seen Tommy leave a show with a girl, probably since his father passed away that I’ve seen him even look at a girl with something other than just politeness in his expression, and that was a month ago. Which is why Liz made so much sense, even if my brain hadn’t fully understood what it was understanding. She was familiar and safe and part of our universe. And if he’s been turning down the plethora of women who throw themselves at him every night, there must be someone important waiting in the wings. But he said Liz isn’t sparkly enough. She’s not his type. So none of it really makes sense.

            And my accusation doesn’t really make sense either, at least not any more. A month, possibly two, since Tommy really got laid. And I haven’t been paying attention. Something’s wrong, and I’ve missed it.

            While I’m wondering about him, though, Tommy continues to argue with me. “This is different,” he says, quiet but strong. “But whatever. If you want to let a friend die while you’re off getting a blow job, that’s your prerogative. Go find your little blond toy. I’ll be here watching out for the people I care about.”

            God, I have never wanted to hit someone so hard in my life. And it’s Tommy. _Tommy_. But what he’s saying injures me right down to my soul. I try to swallow down my hurt, which only makes tears form in my eyes. I look at him and see tears in his too, and it hits me: this isn’t about tonight at all. This is about the first night, the night that started the whole thing.

            “Tommy, if I’d had any idea you were in danger that first night, I wouldn’t have let you get into that car. I wouldn’t have spent the last few moments of your life with some guy I’d never met before.”

            “But you didn’t. So you weren’t in the car with me,” he says, voice cracking, tears dangerously close to the brink. “If you’d been with us… maybe we wouldn’t have crashed at all. Or you would have been there for me while I was… You were supposed to be there. You were supposed to go to that cabin with us and you were supposed to be _there_.”

            I shake my head. My throat’s gone all thick and dry and when I speak, all I can muster is a whisper. “Don’t. Don’t do this. There’s too many what ifs. Yeah, maybe if I’d been with you… I don’t know. But maybe if you hadn’t forgot your hoodie you would have been too early to pass that drunk driver. Maybe if you’d taken a different road or hadn’t gone to the cabin at all or… Tommy, you can’t pin this on me.”

            “But you were supposed to be there, Adam. Going to the cabin. With us. With _me_.”

            No. No, no, no. I can’t take this. I can’t take what he’s doing to me, what he’s saying. This isn’t my fault. It can’t possibly be my fault. And it’s so fucking unfair that he’s trying.

            “I’m not your fucking protector, Tommy!” I bite my lip. “What could I have done? Maybe I could have told Monte to slow down, or told you to wear a fucking seatbelt, for fuck’s sake, but I am not your keeper. That’s not part of my duties as your boss.”

            “Of course not. You’re just the boss. Right,” Tommy says back, and this time his voice isn’t just flat, it’s broken. He turns away from me and starts to leave.

            “Tommy…” I plead and he halts, glancing over his shoulder at me.

            “I know you’re not my fucking keeper, Adam. I know I’m not the most responsible person, but I never asked you for that. I just needed you _there_.”

            He drifts into the crowd, leaving me feeling like I just took a beating from a champion boxer.

The rest of the night passes slowly, creeping along with too much weight on its back. My eyes meet Tommy’s every once in a while. We both glance at the clock at the same time, or I look over to check on him and catch him checking on me. But I don’t see him smiling, not even once, and his skin is nearly sallow in the dim lighting of the penthouse. Once I swear I even see him wiping tears from his eyes. But we don’t talk to each other. We don’t even acknowledge that we’re looking at each other. And my heart feels like the life is being squeezed out of it slowly, like each minute that passes brings it closer to being crushed under the pressure.

 

            *         

 

            “Adam.”

            I’m in the corner of my penthouse, the one closest to the door, and I’ve been staring at it for who knows how long. The party is still in full swing and no one has walked through my line of vision and out that door, so everyone’s still here.

            I tear my eyes away from it and look upward at the blond man leaning over me. “It’s twelve twenty-four.”

            Tommy. I close my eyes to block out the sight of his pretty face and concentrate on what he was saying. Twelve twenty-four. Past midnight.

            “Adam, did you hear me? It’s almost twelve-thirty. We’re… we’re safe. Everyone’s still here and we’re all safe.”

            I nod and stand to stretch, setting the strong rum and coke I’ve been nursing down on the table next to me. “Good,” I say to him when I’m done stretching. I am the definition of noncommittal. “Looks like it worked, then. Glad I could do my part and, you know, _be there_.”

            I take off toward the back of the penthouse, where my bedroom awaits me.

            “Adam…”

            Tommy’s following me, right on my heels, and I feel his hand on my back. I shake it off. “I’m headed to bed, Tommy Joe. Keep partying if you want. I’m beat and I’ve already said my goodbyes to Ally so I’m done.”

            “Adam.”

            “If you guys could turn down the music just a bit, though, that would be awesome. I think I left my good earplugs in the bus, so—”

            “Adam,” Tommy says, his voice forceful enough to keep me from saying any more. We’re in the hallway that leads to my bedroom now, and it’s quieter there, enough that he can whisper to me. “I’m sorry. About what I said earlier. I was just…I don’t know. Scared still. And yeah, angry. But not because I think that this is your fault.”

            “Really?” I snap. “Because it sounded a hell of a lot like you blamed me for your death a few hours ago.”

            “No,” Tommy shakes his head emphatically, his blond hair falling into his face. “I just…I hated that you weren’t there. You always make me feel… God, never mind.”

            “What?” I demand, almost clean out of patience for him. “What do I make you feel?”

            He shuts his eyes like he’s ashamed of himself or some shit. “Safe. You make me feel safe, Adam. That sounds so dumb. And I’m well aware that it isn’t your job to protect me, and hell if I know what you’re even protecting me from but…I just feel safe with you, okay? Like nothing can touch me. Even a horrible car crash.”

            I put my hand up to stop him because I don’t want to fucking hear this again. “I couldn’t have done anything, Tommy.”

            “I know. I’m not saying you could have. I just…shit.” Tommy puts his hands over his face, hiding himself and wiping away tears. “When I was lying there all bloody and broken, I knew it was the end, and I was so fucking scared. And I wanted you there so bad, so that I wouldn’t be so scared. I just…I just needed you there, Adam. I hated that you weren’t, and I know I’m way over the line to be angry that you weren’t, but…I would have felt braver if you’d been there. I would have let myself go on.”

            That breaks me, and I pull his trembling, sobbing body into my arms. “Then I’m so glad I wasn’t there.” I look over his shoulder as he holds onto me, and pretty much the entire party has stopped chatting to watch us have this strange little confessional moment in the hallway. I kiss the top of his head and reach down for his hand. “Let’s get out of the hallway. Everyone’s staring.”

            He lets me lead him into my bedroom, and I shut and lock the door behind us. I pull him back into my arms and hold on as tight as I can. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” I whisper into his hair. “I should have been there. You’re right. I should have been in that car with you, I should have—”

            “No. Stop,” Tommy protests. “You’re right. You’re not my keeper.”

            “Tommy,” I say and pull back from him so I can look into his eyes. I fold both of his hands into mine. “I want to be. I mean, I love that I make you feel safe. And…” I laugh a little, though my throat is swollen and it feels weird to. “You kind of need someone looking after you.”

            He laughs too. “I do. I don’t know how I’ve managed to stay alive this long, really.”

            That sobers me, and I duck down so that we’re eye level. “Tommy, I didn’t mean it earlier, saying I wasn’t your keeper. Because I am. Or, at least, I want to be if you’ll let me. I want to keep you safe. I’ve been trying. Hell, Tommy, that’s what I’ve been doing these past few days, trying to protect you. I’ll keep you as safe as I can. And hey, it’s working, right? It’s almost one in the morning and we’re all alive. Time’s moving on. I must be doing a decent job.”

            “Yeah, you are.” Tommy’s face is dangerously close to mine, and he’s staring at my lips in a way that makes me feel lightheaded and wanting. “You mean it, Adam?”

            I feel my eyelids flutter shut and I breathe him in. He’s so fucking close and he smells so fucking perfect and damn, his body feels good against mine. I shake my head and chant to myself, _he’s straight, he’s straight, he’s straight._

“Yes,” I breathe, and it’s embarrassing to hear myself so needy and vulnerable. “Jesus, Tommy, I’ll look after you forever. At least until you meet a girl that can do it better than I can.”

            When I open my eyes, Tommy’s shaking his head. “I don’t want anyone else to be my keeper. I want you.”

            I nod. “Of course. You’re like my best friend. I’ve already told you, I’d do anything for my friends.”

            He’s still shaking his head. “That’s not really what I want either. Adam, I think you should know, I mean, I think there’s something I should—”

            Tommy’s phone rings out loud and shrill and stabbing through all the emotion in the room, and he lets a colorful string of curses loose from his mouth. “So many fucking interruptions. And who the fuck would call me at this hour?”

            “Anyone who knows you?” I quip and chuckle at myself, but Tommy looks pissed as hell as he pulls the offending phone from his pocket. His eyes scan the caller ID and then flick up to me, confused. “Who is it?”

            “My sister,” he says, his eyebrow raised.  “She never calls me.”

            Something within my stomach twists itself into a painful knot. “Answer it,” I urge, and Tommy hits a button and holds the phone to his ear.

            “Hey, Lisa. What’s…Are you crying? Lisa, slow down. What do you mean? What…what happened?”

            Tommy backs himself up until he’s sitting on my bed, and I sit next to him, offering him my hand. He grabs hold of it and digs his nails in.

            “But…she’s okay, right? Lisa…she’s okay. Tell me she’s okay.”

            The pressure on my hand combined with the way Tommy’s face contorts tells me that his sister’s answer was not a good one.

            “No…”

            Tommy lets the phone fall from his hands onto the bed and sinks into me, burying his face in my neck. My skin is already coated in his tears. I pick up the phone. “Lisa, it’s Adam. I think Tommy needs a minute. He’ll call you back.”

            I hang up and throw the phone aside. “Tommy. What is it?”

            He doesn’t answer me, instead letting out a wrecked, mournful, “Oh god…”

            “Tommy. Please tell me what happened,” I beg him.

            “Mom,” he says in a rough voice. “She was coming home from a friend’s house. Drunk driver. My mother… Adam…my mom…”

            “No.” I pull him even closer, until he’s practically in my lap, and then I lie down with him, encircling every inch of him. He’s not breathing correctly at all. His breaths are short, wheezing gasps.  “No, Tommy. She can’t be dead. She’s not dead, not really.”

            “A drunk driver, Adam,” Tommy says through his sobs. “At the same time I died. A fucking drunk driver. Oh god, my mom… Adam…”

            “No,” I say again and rock him against me. “This isn’t real, Tommy. This is just like Monte last night. Or you the night before. This is just… like a bad dream, or a hallucination or—”

“It’s not, Adam! You know it’s fucking not!” he screams into my chest but doesn’t push me away, and I wrap my arms around him tighter. “I was supposed to die and I didn’t and now my mom’s dead!”

I shake my head. “She’s not. I promise you. Let’s just… let’s go to sleep. And when we wake up, it’ll be this day all over again and your mom will be alive and everyone will be alive and…we’ll find another way. We’ll find some other way. Just go to sleep, Tommy. Just shut your eyes and sleep.”  

He cries until he’s too tired to cry anymore, and he falls asleep in my arms. I stay awake for several more hours, praying like hell that when I wake up in the morning, I’ll be on a tour bus and Tommy will be with Liz and Tommy’s mother won’t be dead. But as hard as I pray for it, the more I hope I don’t get what I’m praying for, because if we wake up and it’s September twenty-first all over again, that means Tommy was right. And Tommy simply cannot be right, because he can’t die. I will not let him.

I’m not sure when I fall asleep, perhaps around dawn, but eventually my body is too exhausted to carry on, and I drift into another world.

 

*

 

 _I’m falling._

 _I fall and fall. I fall into darkness, into silence. I keep waiting for impact, waiting for the ground to meet me, but it never does. The fall is slow, unhurried, controlled and measured. And I know this time that I’m not really falling at all. I’m drifting. Floating. Suspended. Held up yet held down._

 _I surrender to it. I give myself over to its will, to the feeling of being carried as if by a current. I am at its mercy._

 _Yet, even as I hover in this dream, in this strange in between, I know that I may surface, or I may drown. I know what I want it to be. I know because I can feel his arms around me, I can feel his heart beating. And I know that as long as his heart is beating, it is here I want to stay. Here in his warmth. Here in his being. I float away with him, always with him, into the powerful tide that surges toward the surface. I surrender control. I am relieved. I sleep._





	4. Day Four

_The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round…_

            “Get your ass up, Lambert. Fucking diva, sleeping until eleven…”

            I open my eyes to Monte’s gentle shaking and his affectionate words and am instantly filled with gratitude toward… the Universe, or fate, or something.

            I’m back on the tour bus; Monte’s using the same wakeup call he used on September twenty-first and every September twenty-first since then, which can only mean one thing: it’s happening all over again, and everyone is alive. _Everyone is alive._

I roll over and stretch, letting out a long, satisfied groan as I do. “Are we in Puyallup yet?” I ask Monte, and he’s hunched over me, pulling at his goatee like a philosopher deep in thought.

            “Not for five hours, at least,” he says to me, one eyebrow cocked at my early morning cheeriness, something he’s never seen before and probably will never see again.

“But it is Puyallup tonight? And tonight’s the twenty-first?”

Monte gives his goatee a tug and keeps staring at me as if I have three heads. “Yeah, it’s the Un-Last Concert tonight, motherfucker. So you’d better get your ass out of bed or you’re going to have to feel the wrath of Lane.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say and swing my feet to the side of the bed, still shielding my naked body with the sheet so that I don’t burn Monte’s retinas. “And Tommy’s on Liz’s bus, right?”

“Yeah,” Monte says, and he tosses a pair of sweatpants and a Queen t-shirt to me as I motion for them. “You knew?”

“Yeah, I knew.”

“And…” Monte struggles to find words as I dress myself. “And you’re okay with that?”

“They’re not actually together,” I say and run my hands through my hair before tucking it underneath a baseball hat. “But even if they were, what does my opinion matter? It’s not like I ever had a chance with him.”

I make a move to exit the room but Monte steps in front of me, blocking my path.

“What the hell, Pittman?”

“Why are you acting this way?”

“What way?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he answers, shaking his head at me. “But you’re strange today. Like, well, like you don’t care about anything. And I know this has gotta be tearing you up.”

“What’s tearing me up?” Christ, if he only knew.

“This thing with Liz.”

“Monte, I told you, they’re not together. And again, why the hell would it matter to me?”

“Adam…”

God, I hate the way he’s looking at me. All filled with pity and like he knows every fucking thing about me, like he’s got it all figured out. Like he’s sure I’m going to break down and have a tantrum right now in front of him like one of his kids. I’m so not in the mood for Father Monte today.

“What?” I spit.

“Don’t make me say it.”

“You’re going to have to, because I have no earthly clue what the fuck you’re getting at.”

Monte crosses his arms and somehow manages to make himself look threatening. “Yes you do. I’m talking about how you feel about Tommy, and how you must be hurt knowing he’s with Liz.”

“He’s not with Liz, for fuck’s sake!” I bellow and then count backwards from ten. Slowly. “And how do I feel about Tommy, since you seem to know every detail of my life?”

“Come on, Adam. The last time I saw you so mixed up about someone was two years ago, and you swore up and down that you were going to marry that boy.” He doesn’t say Brad’s name because he’s Monte, and he knows me and knows that sometimes that name sets me off like no other. He apologizes, regardless. “Sorry.”

            “I’m not in love with Tommy,” I say and it’s kind of feeble sounding, I admit, but it’s the truth. I’m not in love with Tommy because I’ve never even let myself imagine the possibility that I could actually have him. Dirty, nasty fantasies, yes, but allowing myself to hope for the possibility that we could be together? No. Why would I allow myself to even dream it?

            Monte shakes his head at me and I swallow. “I’m not, okay? I’m too careful for that.” Monte smiles slightly, but his eyes hold nothing but doubt. “I’m fine, I promise. Please, just let it go.”

            He’s still scrutinizing me intensely, but he relents and lets me pass, following me out into the common area of the bus. Most of my Glamily is already seated, waiting on Lane. Monte takes a seat by Isaac and chats with him in a low voice, all the while watching me with unease. Sasha, Brooke, and Cam sit next to each other on the couch and Taylor’s sprawled across them, laughing as they try to push him to the floor. Terrance is as far away from them as he can possibly be and he’s rolling his eyes while scrolling through Twitter on his phone.

            Tommy climbs in, wearing that shirt that I’d bought for him when I was in London, and it hugs his thin body perfectly enough to distract me from the fact that he’s not smiling for a few seconds. When he takes a seat next to Terrance and I really study him, I see red blotches on his face like he’s been crying, and he rubs his temples so hard his fingertips turn white.

            Lane marches onto the bus and launches into her speech without even saying hello. It’s the exact briefing she gave to us three days ago, this very same morning, so I concentrate on Tommy instead. He stares at the floor, not even smiling at Taylor’s antics.

            When Lane releases us for brunch, I reach for Tommy’s hand to pull him up. I pull him so close that his chin rests on my shoulder and I whisper, “You okay?”

            “Woke up crying in Liz’s bed. Thinking Mom was dead. Had to call home just to…just to make sure.”

            I wrap an arm around him and hug, cursing myself for not calling him as soon as I woke up. I should have been thinking. Monte and Isaac are hanging back, waiting for us, and I feel the weight of their stares. I pull away from Tommy and turn to Monte.

“Coming, old man?” Tommy asks him before I get the chance. His grin is a little off, but at least he’s trying.

Monte pats the bulge of his stomach and smiles. “Of course. Gotta keep this girlish figure somehow. Isaac, you in?”

“Wherever there’s coffee, man,” Isaac responds.

We head outside with the rest of the crew and Tommy loops an arm through mine, which only makes me wish everyone else would disappear so that we could talk and reassure each other and figure things out. It’s cloudy overhead and I know it’ll hold off until tonight, after the show.

“So…tonight, party at my suite for Allison?”

“Actually, Liz had a great idea…” Tommy begins, and I turn to him in stunned disbelief. He’s not going to suggest the cabin. He wouldn’t possibly. “She has a good friend that lives up here and they’ve got a cabin a little ways outside of Seattle, so…” He smiles so big at everyone that’s around us that he resembles the Cheshire Cat, and it’s eerie seeing it when I know what’s really on his mind. “You know, we can get Ally all boozed up on her last night with us.”

Everyone’s looking to me as if they need my permission, and for once I’m ecstatic about that. I shake my head. “No, let’s stay here. I’ll get Lane to get us a penthouse and we can just stay in one place.”

“The cabin has a hot tub,” Tommy says and it’s almost seductive the way he says it, as if he’s suggesting a whole Kama Sutra’s worth of deeds in one breath. “And we’d all be totally alone… away from the paps… away from fans…”

Sasha and Terrance look at each other and hum in approval, then Sasha turns to me, pouting. “Come on, Adam. Let’s go to the cabin. Pwetty pwease with a cherry on top?”

The sentiment is echoed throughout the group so emphatically that I can’t say no outright. “Let me talk to Lane, see what arrangements she can make.”

As the rest of the group lets out a whoop of celebration and jogs off toward IHOP, Tommy and I hang back right outside the doors. When they’re all inside, I round on him.

“What the hell? What are you doing?”

“Adam, I have to go.”

“No you don’t. You will not.”

“I have to,” he growls at me. “If not, it’s going to be someone else tonight. Monte, my mother… Adam, I can’t do that again. What if next time it’s Ally or Liz or, Jesus Christ, Adam, what if it’s you? I cannot go through this again. It wants me. I’m ending this.”

“No. We can figure this out. There’s got to be another possibility, there’s something we’re not seeing.” He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. “You said you wanted me to keep you safe, Tommy. Let me try. Just let me, give me time to figure something out. Please.”

Tommy takes my hand and looks at me, really looks, like he’s trying to hypnotize me. I see that fragility again, but this time it’s mixed with surrender. “You know I’m right about this.”

It takes all I have left of my willpower not to stomp my feet and cry and refuse. I try to remain logical, reasonable. “But what if you _are_ wrong? What if tonight someone else dies in an accident as we’re going to the cabin? What if this is just asking for it? What if…Tommy, have you ever considered that we just may be stuck here forever, with no real explanation why?”

“We have to find out, one way or another.” He drops my hand.

“Don’t give up. Please, Tommy. Don’t give up. I’m not.”

He just shrugs and looks at the pavement below. “I’m not giving up, Adam. I’m not sure there was even a fight to begin with. How can there be, if we’re dealing with Fate?”

The door to the IHOP swings open and I look away automatically, hoping no one will recognize me. It’s just Monte, and he asks in a gentle voice, “Hey, guys. The usual? Waitress wants our order.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “And gallons of coffee. We’ll be right in.” I feel his gaze fall on me as the door swings shut behind Monte. “Come on, Adam. Let’s go.”

I stay right where I am. “I can’t let you do this.”

“I don’t think we have a choice.” He takes my hand again and tugs. “Come on. Coffee’s waiting.”

I follow him inside and sit down with the rest of the band, but I hardly eat. My mind’s already working on a plan, on scenarios, on ways to keep Tommy alive.

Because what the hell kind of keeper would I be if I didn’t?

 

*

 

Back on the bus, Tommy curls his little body against mine on the couch and leans his head on my shoulder as I do the day’s emailing on my laptop. I reply to the ones I have to, just in case we actually make it to tomorrow, and let my mind wander as I slowly type. There are things I could do, crazy things, things like Brad had suggested. I could tie him to a bed and not let him leave. I could make him wear a helmet and full body armor in the car. I could hire someone to kidnap him and take him to an underground bunker.

His hand closes over mine and pulls me from my thoughts. “No Twitter today. No Googling yourself. You already know the answers.”

            I take a deep breath and scrunch down against him in the seat. “You know, I’m not that self-conscious. We recorded ourselves. Once.”

            Tommy’s head snaps up. “You and Brad?”

            I nod. “Just the once.”

            Tommy pulls back so that he can study my face. His is unreadable. “How was it?”

            I smirk and close my eyes, remembering how beautiful Brad had looked beneath me, the way he arched off the mattress and the symphony of pleading and sighs from both of us. “Not like I thought it was going to be. Not like porn at all.”

            “Because you love him.”

            “Loved,” I correct his tense gently. “And yeah. I mean, it was hot, don’t get me wrong. But it wasn’t what I expected.”

            “You still love him,” Tommy corrects me.

            “Yeah, but it’s not the same,” I say, qualifying as best as I can. I’m silent for a while, listening to the rumble of the tires on the road. “I want to forgive him.”

            “Then what’s keeping you from it?” Tommy asks, and I turn to him, half smiling. Sometimes he’s brilliant.

            “Scared of what I’ll find when I get rid of the anger.”

            “You’ll find you love him still, but it’s not ever going to be the same as it was,” Tommy says, again so sagely that I’m a little amused, and then he adds, “And maybe once there’s room, you’ll let yourself love someone else.”

            “You think that’s it? Why I haven’t found anyone?”

            “I don’t know, but it’d be nice to find out, wouldn’t it?”

            I laugh a little and nod, and I really want to kiss him. Not even a romantic, lustful kiss, just a sweet one because he has this perfect way of holding a mirror up to me and letting me see what he sees, and I want to thank him for that.

            “I can’t let you do this tonight,” I say suddenly, and my voice cracks. There’s a lump in my throat, too big to swallow down.

            “Just be there for me, Adam. That’s all I want. Be my keeper that way.”

            “You’re asking me to watch you die, and I can’t do that, Tommy Joe.”

            “I need you on this. I need you there for me. Don’t leave me alone.”

            The bus continues to rumble beneath us and I think about the last few days – the conversations with Brad, with Neil, with Tommy. How many times have I not been there? Neil went through our parents’ divorce without me; I left Brad alone to deal with his addiction and alone now when he’s truly lonely; I wasn’t there for Tommy the other night, and I don’t think I’ve really been there for him, truly there, the way I should have been for the last month. Not when there’s something obviously going on with him, something that causes that fragility and fear in his eyes.

            “I’ll be there, because I want to be there for you if that’s what you want.” I close my eyes and breathe in. “But I don’t want you to think that I agree with this, not even in the slightest. I will not give you permission to do this.”

            “You’re acting like I’m committing suicide.”

            “What else can I call it?” I snap.

            “Adam,” Tommy says and his voice is like the gentle tapping of a rain shower. It’s that fucking calming, and I feel my heart slow. “I was supposed to be gone three days ago. I’m on borrowed time. Please, just be there.”

            “I’ll be there,” I vow, and as I do, I get a flash of brilliance and an idea forms in my head.

            He stares at me, searching my face for what I don’t know, and then puts his head on my shoulder again. Within minutes he’s asleep and I’m listening to the bus move and making plans.

 

*

 

            I stand with Neil, watching my roadies work, sipping the chamomile tea he made for me. We’ve already discussed Mom’s birthday; I offered once again to fly Mom into London so we can spend a week with her. I’m beginning to completely check out during the more trivial things of this day, since I’ve done them enough to appear focused and practiced in spite of my inattention. The conversation flows from me like a bored actor at my thousandth matinee.

            Then Neil calls out to a roadie and tells him not to bother with a certain cord or something, whatever that stupid thing is, and my attention is back on him totally. I turn to him, the taste of the honey he so thoughtfully added strong in my mouth. “You know, if you’d told me how bad things were, I would have come home.”

            Neil turns to me, stunned and speechless until he sputters out, “What?”

            I almost feel sorry for him. It’s not like he remembers the bad argument we had on this day two days ago. “The divorce. I just didn’t know it was that bad. I mean, I heard Mom’s side, I didn’t really care to hear Dad’s, but I never heard yours. If you had just called, Neil…I would have been there. Hell, you could have moved in with me.”

            He stares at me for a second before deadpanning, “I know, but then who would I blame when I martyred myself?”

            I chuckle and sip more tea. He goes on. “You knew it was bad. You knew things were heading that way before you left.”

            “Yeah, but I wasn’t running from it. I want you to know that. Not from them or you or their problems, anyway. Running from the town and the stagnant feeling of it all, maybe. But not from you.” I try to smile at him. “But I should have been there, regardless.”

            “Nah,” he says back, “because then you wouldn’t have been cast in Hair, and that was huge for you.”

            I nod. Touring with Hair was when I’d truly found myself. “Still, I should have–”

            “No, you shouldn’t have.” He shrugs. “I knew you weren’t ever really _not_ there, Adam. When I give you a hard time about it, it’s just because blaming you is a whole lot easier than admitting I just can’t cope with Mommy and Daddy not loving each other anymore.”

            I laugh even though I know how much truth is there, laced with the humor.

            “I would have told you to get the hell out, anyway. You were always way too big for community theater.” He’s completely serious about that, and it surprises me a little and makes me feel impossibly proud of myself. “I’m glad you did this. Because it gives me a job and all, not because I wanted you to be successful and have thousands of women screaming every time you do a pelvic thrust. Cause that part actually kind of sucks.”

            I snort at that. “Tell me something…”

            “Sure,” Neil says, his eyes never leaving his team.

            “Why did you come on tour? I mean, it’s not like my offer was empty, but I didn’t expect you to take me up on it.”

            Neil rubs his mouth, his scruff scratching against his palms with a soft sound that reminds me of Eber for some reason. “Mom made me.”

            “Oh Jesus, did she want you to watch out for me? Sure, I’m not a saint but she should at least trust that I won’t get myself into anything that could really hurt my career,” I grumble into my cup of tea.

            Neil turns to me, eyes rolling. “So fucking vain, Lambert. It wasn’t about you. She wanted me to come for me.”

            “What do you mean?”

            Neil jerks a shoulder and his gaze flicks away – a crack in his proud veneer. “Adam, I was about to get evicted. When I called to beg for rent money she lectured me for two hours about how I couldn’t complain about money problems when I had a job offer from you. And of course convinced me that it was okay to mooch off my superstar brother a bit.”

            “You’re not mooching,” I say sternly. “You do more than almost everyone on this tour. And you’re good at it. Really good.”

            He narrows his eyes in doubt. “Yeah?”

            “You’re the reason why this tour runs so smoothly, Neil.”

            He says nothing in response, save for a small cough that gives away his surprise at the flattery, and he stands a little taller. But we don’t say any more. A few words go a long way between Neil and I. Always have. He leaves me and hops up onstage, delivering efficient instructions to the crew. Since there’s nothing for me to do here, I take the stairs under the stage and make my way into the labyrinth of corridors below to my dressing room.

            I open the door to find Tommy on the couch. He’s sitting up, fanning through a wad of green bills. He has music on, something I don’t recognize. I wait until he’s done counting to speak.

            “What is this?”

            Tommy glances at the iPod speaker the music’s coming from and then his gaze swings back at me. “Nick Cave.”

            I listen for a while, deciding I like the slow groove and the gospel-style background singers. I memorize a few lyrics so that I can look the song up later. _Hey little train, wait for me. I was held in chains but now I’m free._ Then I remember why he’s counting money and I shake my head at him. “You’re not going with Monte.”

            Tommy leans over the table and taps the handful of bills on it to straighten them. “Adam, it’ll happen after midnight. I’m okay to go now.”

            “No.”

            His eyes meet mine, slicing through me. “I want to spend some time with Monte. I barely saw him yesterday. He’s…he’s been a great friend, Adam.”

            “Stop talking like you’re dying!” I burst out and Tommy flinches, then inhales slowly.

            “Adam. If this is what’s supposed to happen, I can’t keep avoiding it. I hope to hell I’m wrong, but I’m not willing to keep losing my friends…my _mother_ …to avoid it if I’m right. I can’t go through that again. I just can’t…” Tommy lets the money fall on the table and covers his face with his hands. I’m immediately on the couch next to him, arms around him, squeezing hard. He’s crying; I can feel the teardrops hitting my forearms, but he’s silent and breathing steadily. “It’s too hard hearing that they’re gone, even if they’re alive when I wake up. I can’t go through that again.”

            He lifts his head, his beautiful eyes are bloodshot and tired and I hate it. I hate that this whole stupid thing is happening, that I can’t make it go away, that he might be right about his death being the only solution. Just for a minute I put myself into his shoes. If I thought I was supposed to be dead and the only reason I was living was because my loved ones were dying…yeah, I’d want to just let Fate happen too. But this is different. This isn’t me, this is _Tommy_. And I can’t imagine this world without him.

            I don’t think I want to.

            I reach out and flatten my palm against his cheek and he leans into it, closing his eyes. “Go have fun with Monte. But tonight I’m riding with you. Just us in the car, okay? I’m not risking anyone else getting hurt.”

            “Adam, no, you can’t—”

            “Why? Don’t you dare say I’m more important than any of the others that were in that car the first night,” I warn.

            Tommy’s lips purse tightly and he gives me a nod in answer. Then our eyes meet and I freeze, captured by him, suspended, floating. He sucks in a breath and my own breath seems to catch in my lungs. There’s the fragility again in his eyes, and something else I don’t dare name. Before I can even think it, I blurt, “You’d better go catch Monte if you’re gonna go with him.”

            He blinks and then looks down at the money. There’s a bit of pink rising in his cheeks, which only serves to strengthen my suspicions. “Yeah, guess I’d better go. See you for makeup?”

            I smile. “Of course.”

            He gathers the money and makes his way out of the room without another word. When the door shuts and I’m alone in the dressing room, I let out a shaky breath and walk to my makeup mirror to give myself a stern talking to.

            I glare at my pathetic expression. “Don’t kid yourself, Lambert. He doesn’t want you. All the glitter in the world can’t make you a girl.”

            I take out a tissue and blot the beads of sweat that have formed on my forehead and throw it at my reflection, putting the whole strange thing out of my mind. I have more important things to focus on today, like warming up, a concert, and keeping Tommy alive. And I can’t let distractions and silly daydreams get in the way.

 

*

 

I’ve got a nice buzz going; enough that I feel warm and loose and my worries are a little distant, but not enough that I can’t properly apply my eyeliner. So when Tommy takes a long pull from the bottle of whiskey we’ve been sharing and hands it back to me, I only take a sip before setting it on the counter next to my moisturizer.

We haven’t said much to each other, as there’s nothing much to say. I do our makeup as I had the day before last, alternating between us with each tube or brush or applicator. He looks gorgeous, of course. Small, beautiful, fragile – like he’s not even of this earth. I smile, remembering what thoughts I’d had at this moment, two days ago, comparing him to paintings and literary characters. But he’s really better than anything an artist or writer could create because it’s like he was custom made for me. He’s everything I want. I’m sure those water lilies meant a lot to Monet, but they’re nothing in comparison to the curve of Tommy’s lips or the arch of his cheekbones.

“Shit,” I mumble to myself and Tommy draws back.

“What? Is something wrong? Do I look bad?”

God, if he only knew I was just thinking. What the hell, Adam?

“You look beautiful,” I say. “Just missing the lipstick.”

            I reach behind him and grab the dark red lipstick from the wire basket on the counter. I lean close to him, lipstick twisted up, ready to apply it, but then his tongue darts out and sweeps over his bottom lip and I freeze. The lust hits every cell of my body, hard, hot, and undeniable, and all from one little flick of his tongue. I lick my own lips and will myself to cool off.

            Finally, after a few seconds of a hard internal battle, I give up pretending I have will power and lower the lipstick. “How about you wear clear gloss tonight?”

            He arches a brow. “Wanna kiss me or something?” he asks mockingly, but there it is again in his eyes, that strange sort of intensity that seems a whole lot like desire.

            “Yes,” I say without a trace of embarrassment. “And you should know, I may not stop tonight. If you’re determined to drive down that road at midnight, I’m going to make this last kiss fucking count.”

            I tremble a little, hopefully not enough to be noticed, and I can’t honestly say if it’s because Tommy’s got me hornier than hell or if I’m just afraid that this might really be the last kiss.

            Or maybe I’m just terrified that he might want this kiss as much as I do. Shit. Maybe it’s the combination of all three.

            Tommy opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a knock at the door and he closes his mouth and looks away.

            Neil pokes his head in. “Hey guys. Tommy, we need you to tune up and check. And Adam, we’ll need you in about five.”

            When Neil disappears, Tommy’s gaze returns to me, and fuck. He looks just as messed up as I am right now, just as crazy. This is too much, too much for any human being. We’re not meant to handle something like this. The way I figure it, if Tommy dies tonight, I’ll go completely insane. And if he doesn’t and I have to keep living through this fucking day like some hellish nightmare, I’ve only got a few days of sanity left in me anyways. Either way, I’ll be a loon soon.

            Tommy stands. His movements are slow; his gaze is wide. It’s almost as if he’s afraid to spook me. But then he reaches down, takes the lipstick from my hand and throws it on the counter with a sharp clang that makes me wince.

            “Make it count,” he says, and it’s all but an order. When he leaves I grab the arm of the makeup chair and hold on, white-knuckled, until I’ve stopped shaking.

 

*

 

            About a year after I met Brad, he disappeared. He left me a note that said he was going home, to Texas. He included no explanation and didn’t call the entire time he was gone. I was worried, and livid. I trusted him with my life at that point, so I couldn’t fathom why he’d keep me in the dark about anything. We were partners, we were soul mates; he was supposed to share everything with me. He was supposed to trust me with everything and I was supposed to help him with everything. That’s the way soul mates worked.

So when he showed up, exactly seven days later, a small suitcase in hand, I lit into him despite the tears filling his eyes. I lectured, _lectured_ him, about how love should work and how we should operate as a couple, and he stood there in the doorway, letting me.

Finally, when I was done saying my piece, he drew in a breath and whispered, “Gran died. I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

And me, the world’s biggest asshole, pulled him into my arms and spent the rest of the night crying with him.

His grandmother was the only one in his whole family who had ever given a damn about him; she was the only one who didn’t pretend his sexuality didn’t exist or tell him he was an abomination for it, and she was gone.

            I knew what this meant to him. It meant that the only tie he had with his family was severed. It meant he was an orphan.

            Looking back on it now, that was the beginning of the end of us. Brad started fearing his dependence on me; he gradually stopped letting me in. And I…well, I retaliated by becoming the most possessive, suspicious boyfriend in existence. Because if he didn’t trust me, how was I supposed to trust him?

            It’s either a testament to how good Brad was at hiding things, or how far I was up my own ass, but somehow I missed that casual use had turned into dependency. I didn’t see it. I also didn’t understand until much later that he felt nothing for the guy he’d been sleeping with, that this was just his way of proving that he wasn’t relying solely on me for happiness or support.

            And of course, I didn’t see any of those things through his eyes at all, especially when I was calling him unthinkable things and throwing everything I owned into a suitcase.

            As I sit on the stage, looking out into the gray, open sky, I take out my phone and call Brad. Maybe it’s out of habit by this point, maybe I want to hurt. Maybe I want to heal. Maybe I just fucking need him, like I’ve needed him since that first kiss. Then again, maybe I’m calling so that I know I don’t need him at all. He answers on the first ring.

            “Wondered when you’d call, babe. You crying yet?”

            “Not yet. We promised we wouldn’t cry until after the show.”

            I let him talk, listening to him reminisce about the good ol’ days, listening to him joke about our futures with pool boys and mai tais. I don’t ask him about Cassidy today; he doesn’t offer any information. I don’t want to discuss it, and I don’t want to discuss that night either, or go over for probably the hundredth time that I’m just still not over it. I just want to talk to him without the weight, without the burden of our past pulling us down. I just want to listen to his friendly chatter and believe that we’re invincible, and I get that. It’s just a sweet conversation between friends who had been lovers – friends who had once lived as one and shared dreams together.

            But as we talk, my mind wanders back to my task of keeping Tommy alive, and when the conversation lulls slightly, I jump in.

            “Can I ask you a really weird question?”

            “I love answering weird questions.”

            I smile. “Okay. If you had a dream or a premonition or something that I was going to die tonight…like, a horrible car accident or something…what would you do?”

            He doesn’t hesitate. “I’d get on the first plane to wherever the fuck you are and tie you to the bed and not let you out of my sight until I knew you were safe.”

            I hum. I know this already. I’ve already asked this question. I try again. “But what if you couldn’t do anything? I mean, what if no matter what you did or I did, I was going to die tonight?”

            “What, like the clock strikes midnight and suddenly _poof_ , you’re dead?”

            Chills raise the hair on my arms. “Yeah. Something like that. Like Cinderella but more morbid. I don’t just lose the carriage and the pretty dress, I lose everything.”

            He answers quietly. “I’d still try. I’d have to try, Adam.”

            I nod, because that nearly ever-present lump has lodged itself in my throat again and I don’t trust my voice to answer. I lie back on the stage floor and look up at the sky. The rain is coming, whether I want it to or not. The air is thick and the ground smells ripe.

            “And when you realized there was nothing you could do?”

            I hear him inhale slowly and blow out the breath. Then he laughs a little, shaky and unsure. “Well, I suppose I run the risk of Shakespearean style melodrama here, but…I guess I’d figure out a way to go with you.”

            “Go with me?”

            “Yeah. I wouldn’t let you die alone, Adam.” He chuckles sadly. “Besides, what good is living in a world without Adam Fucking Lambert? I’d go with you. To the afterlife, I mean. Heaven or…probably Hell for us. Whatever.”

            A drop of rain hits my temple, then my other, then I realize it’s not rain at all. I sit up and wipe my face off.

            “I wouldn’t let you die alone either,” I say, and Brad hums in approval.

            “I know you wouldn’t.” I can almost hear the gears in his brain turning and I know what’s going to come next if I let this conversation go on any longer. And I just can’t have those conversations today. Luckily I don’t have to think of an excuse to get off the phone because Tommy and Allison provide one for me. Somewhere off stage left, a door opens and the sound of Allison’s raspy alto fills the theater.

            “Brad, I need to go. They want us to do sound checks.”

            He lets me go after I promise to call tomorrow, and I stand and turn to Tommy across the stage. The wind lifts his blond hair and he looks otherworldly, almost ghostly.

            I shudder.

            “Everything alright?” he asks as I walk forward to meet them, and I’m not sure if he’s referring to Brad or our predicament.

            I nod. Then, to Ally’s complete confusion, I pull Tommy roughly into my arms. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?” I whisper, and I feel him shake his head against me. I swallow and the echo of Brad’s words bounces around inside my head. “Then I’ll be there. I’ll go with you, Tommy.”

            He pulls back, studying me with confusion. Next to us, Allison is absolutely beside herself trying to figure out what the hell is going on. I ignore both of them and let Tommy go, striding toward the exit doors. I wave to Isaac and Monte as they stumble down the hall but avoid talking with them by heading straight to my dressing room. Inside it, I sit in my makeup chair and stare at the tube of red lipstick.

            I’ll go with him.

            Any plans I may have made before Brad said those words became null and void after he’d said them.

            I’ll go with him.

            It’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s the only thing that feels right to me. If Tommy is going to die tonight, so am I. It’s the only choice I have. The only choice I’d ever let myself have.

            I’ll go with him.

 

*

 

            I stare at myself in the mirror, makeup off, freckles and bad skin glaring back at me in the harsh light of the dressing room. The show’s over, the Un-Last Concert that I now know will be my last ever. I’m satisfied. I gave it everything I had. I went for all the high notes, I danced like no one was watching, all of that.

            The best part was that I didn’t bother singing half of Fever because I spent most of that song kissing Tommy crazy. Or maybe he kissed me crazy. I’m not sure because by the end of it, I could hardly see straight, I was too hard to walk, and too dazed to remember the rest of the song.

            And shit, when the lights went down, it was Tommy who pushed my duster off my shoulders and let it fall to the ground, Tommy who stood on his tiptoes in his creepers and leaned toward me, Tommy who pressed his lips to mine and gave me the sweetest, most true feeling kiss yet between us.

            If I’d had any doubt before then that I was making the right choice by going with him, it was gone after that. Because who would want to live in a world without Tommy Joe’s perfect kisses?

            Not me.

            “Adam?”

            I turn away from the mirror and towards the doorway. Tommy’s there, leaning against the frame, dressed in his striped hoodie and the London Underground shirt underneath that, black skinny jeans and those damned creepers, and I smile at him like a goon.

            It wouldn’t just be the kisses I couldn’t live without, I have to admit.

            “Ready?” he presses, and I can’t begin to answer that. Of course I’m not. Who’s ever ready for this?

            “There’s um, just one little thing I want to do before we go.”

            I see him glance at the clock on the wall, but regardless of that little display of impatience, there’s a hint of relief in his eyes. “Okay. But we should head out soon. If I remember right, we left at ten til midnight.”

            I nod. “This won’t take long.”

            I grab the duffle that has most of my life crammed in it and hoist it over my shoulder. I walk past Tommy and toward the stage, his footsteps sounding lightly behind me as he follows. I smell the rain before I hear it, and I hear it tapping on the stage floor before I can open the doors. It’s a light rainfall, not a full fledged storm yet, and the breeze moves slowly around us. I step onto the stage and into the rain. The grounds crew is working below to get chairs and barriers in for the night and they look like strange orange ghosts in their crackling ponchos. The whole place smells like soil and water and beer and plastic, and I breathe it in. I close my eyes and remember how I’d felt just an hour ago on this stage – the high of performing and the rush of the crowd.

            Then I say goodbye.

            The stage has long been my home and my refuge. It’s been the place where I could let myself be anything I wanted, the place that has always welcomed me, the place that has made me who I am. It’s my cocoon, my sanctuary, my altar.

            I feel a hand slip into mine. “Hey…”

            I turn to Tommy. He’s soaked, hair hanging over his eyes, and he’s shivering. He’s right, it’s fucking cold out here.

  


            “Sorry,” I say. “I just had to—”           

  



            “You don’t have to explain to me, Adam. I know you have the international leg ahead of you, but this is an ending, isn’t it?” Tommy holds onto my hand as he looks out over where the audience once stood, out toward the sky that threatens more than a light shower.

            “It may be a beginning,” I say, and Tommy squints at my cryptic words. He has no idea that I’m planning on making sure that when that other car collides with us tonight, I’ll be thrown from the vehicle as well, that it won’t just be him lying broken and bloody on the deserted county road. I’m going with him, one way or another.

            “Let’s go,” he finally says and tugs on my hand. I tear my eyes away from the sky and walk with him, back inside the venue then through it, and to the garage where the rented SUV is waiting. It’s big, bigger than I’d been imagining, and that makes me nervous that my plan might not work.

            I throw my duffle in the backseat and chuckle at my thoughts. How has it come to this, that I’m scared that a car might be too safe to kill me?

            Tommy and I slide into our seats and I start the car and pull out of the parking garage slowly. Tommy directs me through the rain in a gentle voice, and his instructions are the only thing that’s said until we’re out of Puyallup proper and on a road heading away from the city lights. Once the car is enveloped in darkness and we’re on a straight road, though, he reaches over and rests his hand on top of mine on the console.

            “We don’t have to do this,” I say, lacing my fingers through his. “I can turn this car around and go back to the hotel. We could order room service and watch stupid movies all night.”

            “And let who die this time? Allison? Isaac? No, Adam. I can’t.” I look over at him. His jaw is set but the sadness in his eyes softens his face completely. “If you don’t want to do this—”

            “I meant what I said, Tommy. I’m your keeper. I’m here for you. Even…this way.”

            His fingers tighten around mine and he fixes his gaze on the road. “In a couple of miles you’ll see a sign for Mt. Sterling. That’s…um…that’s the road. We were about halfway up the mountain when we got to a hard right turn, and as soon as we were around the corner, that car was spinning towards us. It was…it was right on the edge of a big cliff so…”

             I see it again in my mind’s eye – Monte slamming on the brakes, Allison screaming, Isaac shielding Allison, and Tommy… Tommy in the passenger’s seat, seatbelt uselessly hanging next to him, nothing to hold him in when the car rolls once, twice, three times.

  


            I clear my throat. “But if we had another day we could do whatever you wanted. We could hop on a flight to Cabo again or Disneyland or Vegas and just—”         

  



            “Adam, please don’t make this any harder for me.” His words come out like a sob and when I look over, sure enough, he’s in tears. “I’ve made my mind up. But if you keep talking like that, I won’t be brave enough to go through with it. So please…”

            “I just don’t know what else to say. That’s all I can think,” I argue, but it’s untrue. Tommy’s about to die, and me along with him although he’s unaware of that, and there are a million words on my tongue. And all one million of them are words I can’t say. Not now. Not when it’s too late and there are far more important things than how he makes me think of Monet’s water lilies and how the thought of living without him is scarier than death. He needs encouragement now, he needs a keeper, not professions of feelings he could never return.

            “What should I talk about, then?”

            “Talk about…” Tommy begins, and then pauses with a sheepish laugh. “Tell me your favorite thing about me.”

            I look over at him, his bowed lips and his cheekbones and slender neck, and I know I could never choose just one thing.

            “Well, you’re god damned pretty for starters,” I say, and Tommy laughs a soggy laugh. “And the best part about it is that even though I probably say as much a thousand times a day, and so do all the fangirls, it never seems to sink in. You never get a big ego because of it, which makes you even prettier in my book.”

            He gets quiet then, and I continue on. “And I love the way you play, like that bass is just an extension of you and you’re singing through it. I love that when you pick up your instrument, the band’s sound suddenly tightens and you’re all on one page and I know that anything I do with my voice, any leap or riff or improvisation, you’ll be there right along with me.”

I see the sign for Mt. Sterling and I slow down, taking the turn at a crawl. Tommy remains quiet, but his grip on my hand tightens, and I squeeze back.

“I love that you’re an observer. You watch people, and you figure us all out – what makes us laugh or cry or punch things. And you know exactly how to calm us all, or help us cope, or do our best. You just… you bring out the best in all of us, do you know that? We’re all better people because you’re around, just doing your thing, Tommy. You push us. You call us out when we’re not doing what we should be doing or when we’re being idiots and you make us face it and challenge ourselves and…”

This time I squeeze his hand and for a split second, I take the other off the steering wheel because tears are falling freely onto my cheeks now, and I need to wipe it away.

“I love how you’re always there. Even when you’re mad as hell at me I know you’ll never abandon me and you’ll never turn me away. And I don’t know where I would have been this tour had I not had you to turn to every time I was feeling too unconfident to go onstage, or too homesick to go to another city. Brad may steady me, Neil may support me no matter what, and Monte is patient as hell when I just need to scream and kick and throw a tantrum, but you do all of that and then more. And I’d be so fucking lost without you, Tommy…so fucking lost…”

The car creeps up the hill, gears unhappy that I won’t speed up enough for them to shift, and Tommy wraps his arm around mine and leans his head against my shoulder. He’s not wearing his seatbelt; thankfully, he hasn’t noticed that I’m not wearing mine either.

“And this may not be something that I can count as a favorite thing, but I want to thank you for it.”

He picks his head up and looks at me. I don’t take my eyes off the road, even for a second to look back at him, because if I do I won’t be able to keep driving.

“Thank you,” I begin, and my voice trembles in spite of all the effort I’m taking to keep it steady, “for giving me those moments on stage. I know you probably don’t have any clue what you do to me, Tommy. I’m sure you don’t know what it means to someone like me, that someone as beautiful as you could look in my direction, or give me a chance. Even if you were gay, what would someone like you see in me? You’re so much smarter, such a better person than I could ever dream of being, and just…perfect. You’re perfect. You’re everything that steadies me and calms me and keeps me guessing and gets me laughing, and you’re everything that makes my pulse quicken and thank you…”

I wipe at my eyes again. “Thank you for those moments on stage because for those few seconds, you let me live out the fantasy. You let me believe that you could possibly want me back. And being wanted by you…well…that’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt. Even if only for a moment.”

  


“Adam,” Tommy says, voice hoarse. There’s a turn in the road and I can’t look at him, the corner looks sharp. I turn around it as cautiously as I can. “It’s not just a—”        

  



“Shit!” I yell and slam on the brakes. Up ahead of us, just after the harsh bend in the road, a car is twisted around a tree, a trail of smoke and brake marks in its wake. My stomach lurches and I throw the SUV in park on the opposite shoulder. I take my hands off the steering wheel and clutch my stomach.

It’s not the band car, thank Christ. This is an older model and facing the wrong way. This is the drunk driver. This is the drunk driver and he’s already crashed.

“We’re too late,” Tommy mumbles and rocks forward, his hands over his ears. “We’re too late.”

I vow to celebrate that as soon as my heartbeat is back to normal, but all I can do in the meantime is tell myself to breathe. In, out, in, out.

Then suddenly the dome light flicks on and the car dings out a warning bell. To my horror, Tommy’s climbing out of the SUV and into the rain.

“What are you doing?” I ask, voice nearly at a screech.

“Going to see if he’s still alive,” Tommy answers with a dubious look in my direction, as if wondering why I even have to ask.

“Tommy,” I say, my voice finally strong and pitched lower, where it should be. “This is the man that killed you.”

“I know,” he says, looking away from me and across the road, to where the car is little more than a heap of steaming metal and plastic. “But we can’t leave him in there, Adam. It wouldn’t be right.”

I follow his gaze across the road. This person killed Tommy, then Monte. This person is the reason why we’re locked in this whole fucked up situation. There’s nothing I want more than to watch happily as his car bursts into flames with him inside it.

I turn back to Tommy. “Like I said, you’re a better person than I am.”

Tommy gives me one of his crooked smiles. “Call 911. Who knows, Adam. Maybe if we can save him…”

I know where he’s going with that sentence. If we save a life, we might be able to spare his. That might be the solution to this. It’s a good enough reason for me, so I pull out my phone and dial, quickly telling a dispatcher with a monotone voice the situation.

“Yeah, Mt. Sterling road. Headed north, about a mile up,” I say as she tries to find my location. I step out of the car, holding my free hand over the phone to shield it from the downpour. My eyes are hooked on Tommy, watching as he kneels by the driver’s side door, or where it used to be, and calls out for somebody inside it.

“Ok, sir, we have an ambulance on the way,” the dispatcher says. “I’m going to keep you on the line until they get there, in case—”

I don’t hear her next words.

I don’t hear them because suddenly a car rounds the bend and jerks drastically to avoid my SUV, tires screeching on the wet pavement as it careens around my car and toward…

Toward Tommy.

I drop my phone and run.

I don’t stop running until I’m at Tommy side, by the drunk driver’s car, with a car hurtling at both of us.

I don’t hesitate. I don’t falter. I am his keeper, and that sole thought is the only thing inside my head as I push Tommy with just enough strength to get him out of the way, putting myself directly in the car’s path.

I close my eyes a second before impact.

 

*

 

            My eyes open. I expect pain. I expect to feel something so excruciating I’ll know I’m dying, but instead I feel nothing except the cold rain on my face and something warmer on my cheek. I try to move but I can’t. I can’t feel my fingers, I can’t feel my legs. All around me are sirens and people yelling, and I try to call out to them, but it’s like my lungs won’t work.

            “Adam!” I hear Tommy’s familiar voice gasp out but I can’t lift my head to see him. Then he’s bending over me, eyes red and face streaked with tears. “Oh god, can you hear me? Adam?”

  


            I don’t answer him. I can’t. I can’t seem to make any part of my body work. Out of the corner of my eye I see not one car but two, welded together by force, and there’s a woman screaming from the driver’s seat of the vehicle I remember coming towards me. I also see that my legs are twisted out to my side at a strange, unnatural angle.       

  



            “Adam,” Tommy says again, and my eyes focus on his face. He’s crying for me and shit, this was not the way this was supposed to go at all. I was supposed to go with him, we were supposed to go together.

            _Fall asleep and wake up, Tommy_ , I will him. _Fall asleep and wake up. Then we’ll go together._

            “It was supposed to be me. God damn it, Adam, it was supposed to be me,” he sobs and his voice is so broken it’s barely recognizable.

            Someone I don’t know shoves him out of the way just as my vision fades to black. I hear them talking. I’m coding, they need the paddles, my neck is broken, is it worth the risk of transporting me to the hospital, on and on and on, and then I’m lifted off the ground with a snapping, electrical sound. Once, twice.

            Two hands cup my face and I force my eyes open. It’s Tommy again, his face over mine as the paramedics work and he’s whispering to me in tearful bursts. “Come on, Adam, stay with us. Stay with us, baby boy. I love you. Christ, I love you so much. I should have told you. I should have told you before, I just…please, Adam. Stay with me…”

            I feel his lips press against mine and his kiss feels real again, as real as it had on stage tonight, and it’s the last thing I feel as my eyes shut once more, and I begin to float.

 

*

 

 _I’m falling._

 _I fall and fall. I fall into darkness, into silence. I keep waiting for impact, waiting for the ground to meet me, but it never does. The fall is slow, unhurried, controlled and measured. And I know this time that I’m not really falling at all. I’m drifting. Floating. Suspended. Held up yet held down._

 _But then, through the ether, I start seeing things. Memories. My favorite things. I see my mother. I see Eber. I see Neil. I see Brad smiling, Monte hugging his children, my dancers laughing. I see nameless faces in huge crowds, I hear the clattering of a drumstick, the hum of feedback from monitors, the scratch of guitar strings. I feel the microphone in my hands and the wonderful, used feeling of my warm vocal cords._

 _And then I see Tommy. Beautiful, loving Tommy, who couldn’t bear the thought of one of his friends being hurt, even if it meant giving up his own life._

 _I love him. God, I love him so much. And I can’t stand the thought of being without him, even if I go on to a much better place. I can’t be without him and I won’t. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t…_

 _“No,” I say, though I don’t know who I’m talking to. “I won’t go. I can’t yet. I need more time. Please, I need more time with him…”_

 _Somehow, some way, I am granted an answer to my plea. It’s as if I am cut free, released from the heaviness around me, and I’m floating again. I surrender control and let the tide take me as it surges toward the surface. I am relieved. I sleep._


	5. Day Five

_The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round…_

            “Get your ass up, Lambert. Fucking diva, sleeping until eleven…”

            I roll over and open my eyes. I’m alive. It’s September twenty-first all over again and I’m alive. That doesn’t give me any comfort.

            I sort of let out a pitiful, soft moan and immediately start to cry. I don’t want to do this again. I can’t go through one more day knowing Tommy’s going to die at the end of it, and if I get my way this time, we go together. I don’t have the strength. I don’t have enough sanity left.

            Then his words to me from last night, right before life slipped away from me, come floating back into my head. _Christ, I love you so much. I should have told you. I should have told you before…_

“Shit,” I hear Monte say as this time I let out a full-fledged sob and turn my face into my pillow. “Adam… come on, wake up. It’s just a bad dream or something.”

            I wrap my arms around the pillow and squeeze. The cool surface is wet.

            “Adam,” Monte says again, and I feel his big hands on my shoulders. “Wake up. It’s okay, but you’ve got to wake up now.”

            I turn my face to him and open my eyes. He’s giving me a soft, comforting smile from his seat next to me on the bed.

            “Nightmare?”

            I curl my body around his knee and nod. “I think. Maybe. I don’t remember it, though,” I lie. Or maybe it’s not a lie. I don’t remember any dream; I remember yesterday. Today. “I need Tommy.”

            Monte draws in a deep breath. “Well, he’s…he’s on Liz’s bus, Adam. He’ll be here when the buses stop. Is that why—”

“It’s because of the dream, Monte,” I cut him off.

“Well, okay,” Monte says, but he’s staring at me like he’s expecting me to change my answer. “Do you want to talk? I can tell Lane you’re not feeling well.”

            He studies me with pity. I know he thinks I’m nursing a broken heart over Tommy. Christ, if he only knew.

            “I’m okay, Monte, I swear. I’ll be out in a minute, okay? Just give me a minute.”

            He hesitates, his dark eyes revealing that he doesn’t feel at all comfortable with leaving me on my own right now, but then he gets up and leaves with a heavy sigh. As soon as he’s gone I sit up and wipe my eyes, looking around myself like I’ve never seen my lair before.

            Did he mean it? Did Tommy mean those words like I think he did?

            I shake my head. Impossible.

            With a growl, I toss the covers off and shove myself into some clothes. I feel hot, overheated, even, and my heart is beating in a syncopated rhythm. I’m so angry, but I don’t know who to blame. I’m just so fucking pissed off that this is happening, that Tommy and I are stuck in some twisted, sadistic time warp and whatever it is that’s keeping us here doesn’t even have the decency to let us go. Why wouldn’t it just let me die?

            Then, as I’m reaching for the door I remember: I’m the one that wanted to come back. I was dying, my life was flashing before my eyes in some weird kind of highlights reel, and I asked to stay.

            I asked to stay because of him. Because I needed more time with him. Because he asked me to be there for him and if I died, I wouldn’t be able to do that. Somehow, somewhere along the line, Tommy’s become the most important thing in my life.

            _No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening..._

            I open the door and at the same time, Tommy’s stepping up the stairs into the bus. He flies at me, throwing himself into my arms. I hear gasps and snickers from the rest of the Glamily as I enfold his small body into mine and whisper to him, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

            “But you—”

            I press a finger to his lips. “Not here. We’re going to freak everyone out.”

            He nods against me and we part, only to sit next to each other on the couch while receiving questioning looks from everyone else on the bus, including Lane. There’s a moment of awkward, pregnant silence before Lane breaks into her briefing without preamble.

            Tommy reaches for my hand and I move away. I can feel his eyes on me, perplexed, but I don’t look at him.

            As the group breaks for brunch, it’s Monte who approaches me first. “Want us to order for you?”

            Bless Monte and his intuitive nature.

            “Yeah,” I say and glance at Tommy, whose gaze is now fixated on his shoes. “We’ll be in soon.”

            There’s a cautious glance between Isaac and Monte, then me and Monte, before the two of them leave me alone with Tommy. As soon as the bus door shuts behind them, Tommy’s arms are around me, holding me tight. I lean into his shoulder and breathe.

            “God, Adam. I thought…I thought…”

            “I know,” I say into his neck.

            “I thought it hurt to lose Monte, to lose my mother, but Adam… I can’t lose you. I can’t do that again.” He draws back to look at me, eyes damp. “I love you. I know you heard me say that last night. I’m so in love with you. I won’t lose you like that.”

            He reaches up and cups my chin before pressing his mouth to mine. In one swift but gentle move, I grab his wrists and push him off of me.

            “No. You can’t do that.”

             “Do what?” Tommy asks, hurt.

            “Kiss me like that,” I say and stand, putting as much distance between him and me as I can in the cramped space of my lair. He stares at me, mouth agape, from his seat on the bed.

            “You don’t want me to kiss you?” he asks in a whisper.

            I feel a tug at my heart and sigh, resolving myself to explain this delicately, and not clumsily like I usually do in these situations. “This is my fault, okay? All the stuff we do onstage and the way we sometimes act offstage it’s…it’s bound to be confusing. But just because you’re comfortable doing that with a gay man doesn’t mean you might be gay, or even that you actually have feelings for me or something. I mean, it’s pretty easy to get caught up, especially when we’re in front of a fun crowd or—”

            “You think I’m confused?” Tommy asks, standing slowly, one knee remaining on my bed. “You think that’s what this is?”

            “Yes,” I answer in a direct, no-nonsense voice. “Of course, Tommy. I’ve seen you with women. You love women.”

            Tommy snorts and throws his arms out in question. “And what? That means I can’t like you too?”

            My shoulders drop. “Have you ever felt this way about another man, or ever even been curious before we started doing all the fanservice stuff?”

            “Well, no, but—”

            “Exactly. Of course you didn’t. Because you don’t like men and…” I shake my head and give him an expression that can’t be anything but apologetic. “You don’t like me. You’re not in love with me.”

            “I am. God, Adam, I think of nothing but you. I’m feel like I’m going insane with it.”

            I shake my head again. “I’m sure it seems like that, but it doesn’t work that way. You can’t just…I don’t know, wake up one morning and say, alright, I’m attracted to guys too. That’s just not the way it happens.”

            I cross over to him, taking his hand in mine. “Listen, it took me years to work out that I was gay and then several years on top of that to feel comfortable enough about it to tell people. Right now, as confused as you are—”     

            “I’m not confused!” he hisses and snatches his hand away. “And I’ve _had_ time, Adam. I’ve felt this way about you since, well, since December at least. Maybe earlier. And then when Dad died and I was in shock, I realized you were the only person that could really comfort me and…I don’t know. It opened my eyes. I realized I was in love with you.”

            His words do nothing to strengthen his case and everything to solidify mine. I try to explain gently. “See? That’s it, Tommy Joe. You’re all mixed up because we got close after your dad passed away, and with all this sexual stuff every night, it’s all jumbled together.”

            “Stop fucking telling me how I feel!” Tommy yells and it echoes around the small bus chamber for a few seconds. “I love you. I don’t need more time to figure that out. I don’t need to agonize over what that means or how to define myself or whatever emo shit you did as a teenager because I _know_ this, Adam. There was nothing to analyze. It’s just fact.”

            “No, it’s not that cut and dried,” I argue.

            “What else can it be?” he shoots back. He takes a step toward me, pressing his body to mine. “Listen to me. I love you, Adam. That’s what I know. I don’t know why you’re the only guy that’s ever made me feel this way, but that doesn’t make it any less valid.” He strokes his palm over my cheek. “And if you don’t believe me, let me prove it to you.”

            He leans up on his toes to kiss me and in a panic I push him away, hard enough to send him stumbling backward. He growls or something, it’s a strange sound, and glares at me, eyes hard and cold.

            “So that’s it? You don’t believe me so you’re not even going to give me a chance?”

            I can only stare back at him, bewildered as he is. This is nothing less than shock, what I’m feeling, because as shocking as it is to hear him say he’s in love with me, it’s even more shocking to realize how badly I’ve wanted to hear him say those words. And then to tell him no, because he can’t possibly love me. He’s straight, and even if he wasn’t…

            It doesn’t matter. He couldn’t possibly love me. And as much as it’s hurting me to have to explain how confused he is to him, it’s killing me to hear these words from him when they’re so impossible. It’s damn near splitting me open.

            “I can’t, Tommy. I wouldn’t want to hurt you like that.” There’s guilt attached to those words because, even as I say them, I know it’s not him I’m protecting.

            He exhales a short breath and closes his eyes, then, with a snap, he turns on his heel and throws open the door of my lair, barreling through it with stomping creepers.

            There’s no way to describe what my body feels like as I watch him walk away except to say that I feel like I’m dying. Every cell hurts. I’m frozen for a few seconds, unable to breathe, then I take off running after him, jumping from the top stair of the bus to the pavement below.

            “Where are you going?” I yell to his back.

            “Liz’s bus,” he snaps, and even though I nod in agreement with him, I’m following him like I’m going to stop him, beg him to come back.

            “Of course. See? She’s right for you. She’s what you—”

            “Don’t you dare tell me what I fucking need,” he growls, rounding on me. “Jesus, Adam, how many times do I have to tell you? There’s nothing with her. There’s nothing with anyone, and there hasn’t been. Not for months. You’re the only one I want.”

            His belief is so strong, his argument so adamant, that it breaks my heart all the more. “I’m so sorry, Tommy. I should have thought about what this might do to us before I started all this.”

            “Don’t apologize for making me fall in love with you.”

            “You’re not in love with me.”

            “God damn it, yes I am!” he screams. “Why can’t you believe that? What do I need to do? Come out on the cover of Rolling Stone?”

            “Tommy,” I try patiently, “telling everyone won’t make it any more true.”

            “It is true, and you’d know that if you just let me show you.”

            Then he launches himself at me, so fast and deftly that I have no chance to escape it. His lips come crashing down over mine, his arms lock around my neck, and he presses himself into me so hard I lose my breath.

            And fuck it all, our friends inside the restaurant must have seen by the looks on our faces that we were fighting, and now we have an audience gathered that reacts with sharp gasps and whispers.

            I pull away from him with something like a scream falling from my lips. I’m past the point of control, past the point of trying to be gentle, and my voice cracks and shakes as I hear myself fucking beg, “Stop. Just stop it, Tommy. Don’t do that. Please don’t.”

            And thank fuck I got away when I did, because if he’d kissed me for a second longer, he would have broken the scrap of self-control I have left and I would have told him I loved him back and taken him right there in front of God and all creation.

            I wipe at my eyes then smear the wetness onto my hair as I tug it with both hands. When I finally gather the courage to look at Tommy, it’s far worse than I’d feared. Instead of being angry, he’s gone completely still, his shoulders the only part of him moving as he breathes in and out slowly. His face is slack, there are tears on each cheek, and his eyes are downcast, staring at nothing.

            Then, he draws himself up and nods, swallowing. “I see.” He turns his head and meets the gazes of a few of our friends – Monte, Allison, Liz. Then he looks back to me. The fragility I’ve gotten used to seeing in his eyes is so concentrated and raw that I want to look away. “If you didn’t want me, Adam, you could have just said so. You didn’t have to try and convince me that I’m straight or something. A simple, ‘Thanks, but no thanks’ would have sufficed.”

            “Tommy,” I begin, stepping toward him, “that’s not what I meant.”

            He steps backward, out of my reach. “No, I get it. What am I compared to having a different fan boy every night of the week?”

            “That’s not it at all,” I argue and I desperately try to remember how the hell this conversation got so off track, so out of control, so drastically different from what I’d hoped it would be. “I told you…” I start, then realize our friends are still staring, and lower my voice. “I told you last night what I really think of you, Tommy.”

            He laughs once, hollowly, miserably. “Yeah, as you were driving me to my death. Lies to die by.”

            “I wasn’t lying,” I say through gritted teeth.

            “I’m supposed to believe that when you act like kissing me might be torture?”

            I stare at him. He has no idea how right he is. Every kiss with him is an exquisite kind of torture – a bittersweet reminder of what I can’t have, and him offering himself like this without a clue as to what it means to me is the most painful thing I’ve ever felt.

            “Perhaps,” I breathe, voice barely audible, as if my whole being is objecting to what I am going to say, “perhaps we should spend some time apart. Everything’s been so intense lately and some time apart from each other could clear our heads. Then you’ll see that all this stuff you’re feeling isn’t real.”

            He looks upward, more tears slipping out of his eyes, and remains silent. I can feel our friends staring at us, expectant and confused but not even daring to whisper to each other. Then he takes a solitary step toward me and I think he’s going to touch me, but instead he balls his hand up into a fist and lets it drop to his side. His voice is eerie when he speaks, as if he’s singing in the wrong key, whispering when he should be shouting.

            “If this isn’t real, then why does it feel like my heart is breaking?”

            He turns and walks away, Liz and Allison immediately at his side, holding on to each arm, and I start to go after him.

            “No. Let him go, Adam,” I hear Monte say, and he’s got his arms around me, holding me back. Numbly, I let myself be led back inside the bus, to my bed, where Monte sits with me while I cry myself to sleep. He doesn’t ask questions, but he holds my hand, and even as I fall into horrible dreams about never-ending days and inescapable car crashes, I feel his presence next to me, and I know I’m not alone.

 

*

 

            I sit in the fourth row, watching the roadies work while my mind is light years away. Since I woke up and Monte left me in my dressing room with a promise that he’d be close by if I wanted to talk, I’ve done nothing but stare at the walls. Or, in this case, the roadies. Fade out, tune out, zone out.

            There’s something to those clichés about holes in your heart, or your soul, or your chest, I’ve decided. Ever since Tommy said I’d broken his heart and turned his back on me this morning, there’s been an emptiness inside me, bearing down heavily. It doesn’t make sense how emptiness can feel so weighty, but it’s fucking crushing. I want it to finish me off, to implode me or smother me so that this feeling will end, but I know I’m not that lucky, nor do I deserve that mercy.

            Neil sits down beside me and hands me tea that I know I can’t stomach right now. Regardless, I wrap myself around the cup and try to absorb some of its warmth.

            “You okay?” he says to me, his eyes on the roadies too.

            I shrug. No, I’m not okay, but there’s nothing to say about that, is there? He was there; he was one of the faces in the audience for me and Tommy’s little fight. He heard everything.

            I hear Neil exhale and he puts his feet up on the chair in front of him. “Not exactly how I pictured you handling the news, but I guess it’s better now than at the party.”

            “At the party?” I echo back numbly, turning to him. Neil turns back, nodding.

            “Yeah, Tommy was planning on telling you tonight, at the cabin. That would have been messy, to say the least, and unfair to Allison to have you two screaming at each other at her goodbye party. Not exactly a loving send off…”

            I blink. “You knew?”

            “That Tommy’s in love with you?” He snorts. “Yeah. I think he only told me and Liz and Ally, though I’m sure everyone else probably figured it out. With the way he looks at you, I’m surprised you didn’t.”

            “He doesn’t love me, Neil,” I say, and Jesus, I can’t even tell it’s my voice when I talk. It’s tuneless.

            “Yeah,” Neil says, turning his gaze back to the stage. “I heard you say that a lot this morning. Keep saying it, Adam. Maybe it’ll come true, if it hasn’t already.”

            I bite down on my tongue to hold back a “Fuck you.” Instead, I ask, “He was going to tell me tonight?”

            Neil nods. “I feel bad. I told him to go for it. I never would have imagined that you, Mr. Sexuality-Is-Fluid, would have told him to fuck off. Especially with the way you feel him up all the time.”

            This time I don’t hold back. “Fuck off, Neil. You know he’s straight.”

            “I don’t think he is, actually,” Neil says and narrows his eyes. “And I don’t think you do either. So what is it, Adam? Why do you really think he can’t be in love with you?”

            “The women he dates, for starters,” I growl, sinking into my chair. “They’re all gorgeous and stunning and perfect—”

            “Right, not at all like you.” Neil rolls his eyes. “Even though I’ve heard Tommy describe you with those exact words…”

            I shake my head.

            “I know. He’s got to be wrong. You have horrible skin, right? Acne like a teenager, pock marks, freckles…not to mention the double chin, those persistent ten pounds that you can’t seem to shake, the skinny calves, the—”

            “Shut up, Neil,” I say, jaw set.

            He sighs and looks me straight in the eye. There’s no malice there, only pity and sorrow. “Am I wrong?”

            Just for a second, I picture myself naked with Tommy, his beautiful ivory skin and lithe body flawless next to mine, the pudgy ginger kid. My stomach clenches like I might throw up. I shake my head and Neil trudges forward, oblivious.

            “Or maybe you think he can’t possibly love you because you’re a fraud. It’s all an act, this glittery sex god thing, and really you’re terribly uncreative, unsexy, and horrible in bed.”

            I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on breathing, concentrate on the thought that this is my brother and I can’t hate him. Even when he says shit like that, because yeah, I may throw sex around onstage all the time, but it’s not like I’m out to prove anything with it. Not really.

            “Or…” Neil begins again, and I just want him to shut up. Shut the hell up. Leave me alone. “Maybe Tommy can’t possibly love you, because if he does that means you’ll have to let someone else in again, and he might hurt you. He might leave, or cheat on you, or get himself so fucked up on cocaine that he barely remembers who you are or—”

            I stand so abruptly that the tea goes everywhere – my pants, my shoes, the chair in front of me. “Shut the fuck up, Neil!”

            Neil only gives me a little smile and takes my wrist in his hand, pulling me back into my seat. We stare at the roadies for a full minute in silence. I cool down. Neil’s patient.

            “You know I love Brad,” Neil whispers, “but some days I want to wring his pretty little neck for what he did to you.”

            “This isn’t Brad’s fault,” I say weakly.

            “No, most of this isn’t Brad’s fault at all. Doesn’t make me want to kill him any less, sometimes.” I turn to Neil, watching him as he watches the roadies. I think of the stick drawing, of what it meant, that he would fight for me, and while I’m picturing it he turns back to me with a grin. “Have you looked in the mirror lately, Adam?”

            “I try not to,” I zip back.

            He laughs a little. “Well, I sure as hell don’t see it, thank Christ. If I did I wouldn’t have to just question my sexuality. There’d be some weird shit only a therapist could figure out…but…Tommy says you’re gorgeous and perfect. Probably a million fans agree. You might think it’s all tricks with makeup and camera angles, but they see it without all that. And they’ll never think you’re a fraud because they know, and Tommy knows, you’re exactly who you say you are. Tommy’s got no illusions about you. He’s seen you first thing in the morning, dragon breath and eye crusties and the whole bit. He’s seen _you_ , Adam, and he still thinks of you as perfect and gorgeous and you know what?”

            “What?” I ask, because Neil’s on a roll and as annoying as it is, I love him like this, with his soapbox and high horse and perfectly sound, no nonsense advice.

            “It doesn’t matter what you fucking think about yourself. It’s what Tommy thinks that matters. And if he thinks you’re perfect and he loves you and wants to be with you, why not let yourself enjoy it?” Neil shrugs. “Maybe eventually he can convince you too.”

            When he says that I have to turn away. I’m too ashamed of myself to look him in the eye. “It’s not that simple,” I say, and wonder if he caught the little hitch in my voice.

            “No, it’s not,” Neil say softly, and I can feel his eyes on me. “It’s a shit ton more complicated than that. But thinking you’re not good enough to be loved is a piss poor excuse for being lonely when there’s someone who’d give anything to be with you.”

            I turn my head sharply to look at him, and Neil’s smiling. “His words, not mine. Come on, the dude came to _me_ , asking for advice on how to tell you. He’s obviously desperate.”

            I only chuckle a little at that, so Neil speaks again. “Think about it, Adam. I know you love him.”

            I don’t have to ask how he knows that, for the same reasons I don’t have to ask how he knows I’m lonely.

            He leaves me to my thoughts, hopping up onstage to deliver efficient instructions to the crew. It occurs to me that we haven’t discussed plans for Mom’s birthday and then it occurs to me that it doesn’t matter. I won’t be there to celebrate it; he’ll have to make plans on his own. I’m not sure Tommy will still want me there tonight, when the cars collide, but that doesn’t matter, either. It doesn’t change the fact that I want to be there for him, and that I don’t really want to be alive if he’s not.

I stay and watch Neil work because it’s better than going back to my dressing room, where Tommy’s absence will be haunting, and it’s too early to warm up or call Brad. So I watch them put my stage together, thoughts oscillating between my words and Neil’s, wondering which version of truth to believe.

 

*

 

You’d think I’d remember little details of September twenty-first better than I do. But I can’t for the life of me remember when I actually called Brad that first day, except that it was sometime after sound check and right when the clouds were rolling in.

Since check I’ve been lying on the stage. There’s no one around, and I figure that has to be Neil’s doing. He must have told the entire crew to fuck off and give me time alone. I stare up at the gray clouds, daring them to rain on me. It would match my mood perfectly. The only sound I hear is the wind from the approaching storm as it whips through the staging, and the dull hum of a crowd that has gathered several hundred feet away, waiting on the concert.

“Fuck it,” I mumble to myself, figuring it’s probably too early but it’s close enough, and take out my phone to dial Brad’s number. He answers on the first ring.

“Wondered when you’d call, babe. You crying yet?”

Too early or not, it’s Brad’s line, and I have nothing to say in return. Crying? After the “week” I’ve had, I know that crying is just an exercise in futility. Things can always get worse, and they will, and there’s not enough crying in the world to cover it.

Instead of answering, I jump straight to what’s on my mind. “Brad, tell me something.”

“Okay,” he says, and there’s a note of trepidation in his voice.

“Am I in love with Tommy?”

Brad doesn’t answer right away. He makes a soft noise, like a hum or something, and there’s the familiar sound of a glass door sliding shut and then faint sounds of traffic. Sounds that I’m used to. Sounds of our apartment. Sounds of the apartment we shared for so long. And I know he’s out of earshot of Cassidy now, who he hasn’t told me is there with him, who he didn’t tell me he’d been sleeping with steadily when I came home for a weekend and jumped into bed with him.

Fuck.

“You can’t answer that question yourself, Adam?”

“I don’t think I can.” I roll my head against the stage floor and let honesty flow from my lips. “He’s never been a possibility before. I couldn’t even let myself consider it.”

“And now he is? A possibility, I mean.”

“He told me last night that he’s in love with me.” I inhale. “I don’t know if I believe him.”

“Do you really not believe him or are you choosing not to?”

I frown. “Did you talk to my brother?”

“Not lately,” Brad says. “I just know you, Adam. I know how hard it was to convince you that I loved you. I would assume Tommy might be having the same problem, especially considering that his status was ‘straight’ until he said he loved you. Believe me, it’s a constant battle to keep you convinced that you’re loved.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like I wasn’t extremely high maintenance.” I chuckle at that. “Of course, after all my convincing I went and proved to you that you were right, didn’t I? You can’t really be in love with someone you’re cheating on, at least not properly, right?”

“Brad…” I begin.

“No, sorry, I know. This isn’t about me. Or us. Although it might be a little, I suppose. So let’s talk about Tommy…”

There’s sadness in his voice, and so much distance too. This is the polite Brad, the noble Brad, the one who sacrifices his own happiness for others. The one who spends hours trying to make small talk with Drake, who congratulates me with a bright smile every time my album sells another thousand copies, the Brad who reaches for the bill at an expensive sushi place even though it’ll take half his week’s salary. It’s one of the many Brads I fell in love with.

“I’m sorry, babe. I have no right to ask you that question.”

“Oh, but you do, Adam.” He forces a laugh. “After all, who better to tell you if you’re in love than the only man you’ve ever loved? I’d recognize all the signs, wouldn’t I?”

“Brad…”

“And yes, you are. You’re in love with Tommy Joe, Adam.”

As his words wash over me, I find myself a little disappointed. I thought that maybe hearing Brad say the words would be like a big, magical moment, with fireworks or fairies dancing or some shit. Instead, it’s just confirmation of something that my mind, body, and heart have known for perhaps months. It doesn’t open my eyes to anything, it just makes it real. It gives it a voice – it gives it words. Beautiful, terrifying words.

“How long?” I ask. That insufferable lump has risen in my throat again, and I try to swallow it down.

“When did he audition for you?”

I close my eyes and think back. “Around October.”

Brad hums agreement. “And that was about the time you took me to that little Mexican restaurant cause you were jonesing for burritos, and you never want burritos so I wondered out loud if you were pregnant. That really cracked you up. And you spent the entire two hours at the restaurant telling me about how great your band was going to be with the addition of a gifted bass player by the name of Tommy Joe Ratliff. Of course it wasn’t until later when I saw the pictures, or more importantly, met the little sprite, that I realized everything about him was perfect for you and you weren’t just crushing on a cute musical twink, you were gone.”

I swallow again. “And when was that?”

“Oh…last Christmas, maybe.”

 “You didn’t say anything,” I muse.

“What good would pointing out your lovesickness do me?” Brad asks.

“And that weekend?” I ask accusingly, like it’s Brad’s job to tell me when I’ve fallen in love with other men.

Brad sighs. “It was fantastic. I almost believed you wanted me there instead of him. In fact, I’ve been meaning to send him a thank you note.”

“God, Brad, I’m—”

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t know. Or at the very least, you were determined not to succumb to it, and I took advantage of that. I admit it.” He pauses for a second. “What else could I do? I hedged my bets that he was truly as straight as he claimed, and that you’d get over him eventually.”

“And now?”

Brad takes a minute to answer. “Now I’m hedging my bets that, perfect as he is, he’s not as perfect for you as I am. That he can’t be what I can to you. Let’s face it, Adam. I fucked up big. But I know that one day, when you forgive me and give me a second chance, you’ll see I’m the only person that can make you truly happy. Sure, he may be perfect, but I’m perfect- _er_.”

“And what about Cassidy?” I ask. There’s a touch of anger there, although I can’t pinpoint the root of it. It’s not quite jealousy, not quite betrayal. More like I’m hoping the mention of Cassidy’s name will cause Brad’s whole argument to unravel because, yeah, he might be right, but I’m realizing more with every second that I don’t want him to be.

“What about him?”

“Brad, I know there’s something going on between you.”

That’s met with another moment of silence. “Yes. There is.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why do you think?”

I sigh. “Because you think it might have hurt our chances of getting back together, and you don’t love him, it’s just a matter of convenience with him.”

“See? You know why.”

I don’t say anything because it hits me, so hard that I actually feel my gut clench in response – Brad’s out of chances with me. And not because he fucked up and I can’t forgive him. No. Because even if the whole thing had never happened, even if we were still together and happy, I am drawn to Tommy Joe. I am _captured_. Tommy’s the reason why I slept with Brad that weekend, Tommy’s the reason why I don’t say no to many fanboys; Tommy’s the reason why I’m jumping in front of cars and asking the universe for another day, Tommy is…

Fuck.

He’s in the back of my mind with everything I do, whether I acknowledge it or not. Everything’s for him, or because of him, or in hopes for him or…

Fuck.

Yeah, Brad’s out of chances with me because, like he said, I am _gone_. I’m Tommy’s, and I’m always going to be Tommy’s, and…

And he might be mine too.

“Fuck.”

“Shit, now you’re crying, aren’t you?”

I wipe at my eyes, and what do you know? Brad’s right again. “Yeah,” I whimper out. “Brad, what do I do?”

“Come home and let me prove to you that I can be good to you, and that I might even actually deserve another shot with you.”

“Brad.”

“I know, you meant Tommy.” There’s a sniffle, and it’s not coming from me. “Let him love you, Adam, and let yourself love him. And don’t fuck it up. But if you do – not that I’m hoping you will, and of course I’m not implying that your relationship skills are anything less than stellar – I’ll be here. Or if he fucks up, I’ll be here. And then you’ll see what’s been in front of your god damned face for so long.”

His words should have bite or sting, but they’re softened by the sadness and warmth buried in them. As I said, I love noble Brad, and my heart aches inside my chest for the pain he’s going through, for the love he’s hidden in his advice, for the feeling of finality in it all.

“Thanks, Brad,” I say, because I don’t know any way else to put into words what I’m feeling, and I can almost see him shrugging.

“Adam.”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me, that if you find he’s not right for you—”

“You’re the first person I call,” I say, and I’m not sure if it’s a lie, because even if I would somehow lose Tommy, there’s still the strong possibility that I’ll never be able to give Brad that second chance that he – probably – deserves.

“Good luck. Love you.”

“Love you too,” I answer, and end the call.

Tommy and Allison don’t burst in to interrupt me today. I have no doubt that the girls have Tommy locked up somewhere, quarantined from me, while they drill him for details or sympathize with him and call me a bastard, or possibly an estrogen-fueled, heady combination of both. I’m sure I’m playing the part of the villain wonderfully in their minds. I sure as hell gave them enough ammunition to work with this morning.

Groaning, I push myself up from the stage floor and take the back exit out of there, just in case Isaac and Monte were still in high enough spirits to pre-game. My dressing room is lonely, but I have a shit ton to do before I take the stage. I go through some vocalises from memory until my throat feels used and ready. Then I chuck on my iPod and let it select something for me. A song from The National comes up, ironically, something Tommy put on my iPod for me. But I listen as I start on my makeup, for the first time wishing that I hadn’t let Sutan have the week off so that I could have someone to talk to.

Of course he probably wouldn’t sympathize with me either.

At some point I start singing along with the song, an octave higher than the bass singer in my ears. “I won’t be no runaway, cause I won’t run…”

I sit back and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look tired, hopeless, and resigned. Resigned for him.

I’ll be there for him tonight, when those cars collide, whether he wants me there anymore or not.

And I’m still going to go with him.

 

*

 

It seems like hours later when my makeup is done and I look like Adam Fucking Lambert in the mirror. Gone are the dark circles under my eyes, the red blotches on my face, the tear stains, and a glittery alien has taken its place. No one at the concert tonight will suspect that I’ve had the day from hell.

I throw a stick of eyeliner into my makeup bag and am about to get up and find my purple coat when the door is thrown open wide, then slammed shut, and Tommy stalks over to my makeup counter. The look on his face is fierce, pissed off, but seeing him still makes my heart trip over itself inside my chest.

“Everything I fucking own is mixed in with your shit,” he spits and reaches into my bag for the eyeliner I just discarded. I reach out and grab his wrist. I watch as his whole body tenses and he closes his eyes slowly. “Let go.”

I don’t. I don’t move at all, I just continue to stare at him, in awe. This gorgeous boy claims he’s in love with me, and I’m in love with him.

He pulls, but I’m way stronger than he is so he stops fighting, tosses his bangs out of his eyes, and looks toward the door. “Let me go, Adam,” he pleads this time, desperate to hang onto some dignity.

“I’m sorry,” I say to him, and he turns his head slowly back toward me. “I’m really sorry, Tommy.”

His eyes are just as tired as mine, just as hopeless and resigned. “I’m a big boy. I can handle rejection. Badly, maybe, but I can handle it. You don’t have to apologize for not wanting me.”

I run my free hand up his forearm, cupping his elbow. “How could you possibly believe for a second that I don’t want you, Tommy?” I close my eyes, wallowing in memories of greedy lust and need over the past months. “There’s nothing I want more.”

“But you said—”

“Forget what I said. Forget everything I said this morning. I want to talk about what you said.”

Tommy cocks his head. “I said I love you.”

“You mean it, don’t you?” I say, studying him, tracing circles over his elbow.

He nods. “I do. I’m in love with you.”

“Good,” I say. “Cause I need you to mean it, Tommy. Because I’m in love with you too and I can’t…if you don’t mean it…or there’s even a possibility that you don’t mean it… I can’t do this. I can’t. And I don’t care if that makes me a coward, so be it. But if we’re going to do this, I need you to be sure. Because I can’t lose you once you’re mine. I wouldn’t survive it. If we do this, Tommy, I need it to be for always. Can you do always?”

His eyes widen and I know the gravity of this is settling on him; I know how much I’m asking of him. I’m asking for his forever when all this is so new to him, and probably terrifying, but as selfish as it is, every word out of my mouth is the god’s honest truth. If he decides somewhere down the line that he doesn’t want me anymore, there will be nothing left of Adam Lambert.

“I want to do always, but…” He bites his bottom lip. “I don’t have always to give, Adam. I only have a few hours.”

“Then give me those hours,” I ask of him. “And if the Universe sees fit to grant you more than a few hours—”

“It’s yours, too,” Tommy says, nodding to me. “Any time I have is yours. Hours or forever.”

We stare at each other, wide-eyed, hands clasped, and our words ring in my head. They wrap around us, binding us, holding us together.

“I’m scared,” he stutters out. I feel his body tremble beneath my fingers. “But I want this. I want you.”

“I’m petrified,” I say in answer. “I’m yours, if you want me, Tommy. And it’s fucking scary as hell.”

“So you believe that I love you, then?”

“Yes,” I say with a shake of my head. “Although it seems…well, it seems impossible.” I let go of him. He’s not going to run off now, I’m almost sure of it. Free now, Tommy moves closer to me, his body between my knees, and strokes his hands down either side of my face.

“Why?”

“Because it’s too good. It’s too perfect.”

He slides a thumb over my lips, smearing gloss. Then he leans forward and kisses me, open mouthed with a touch of tongue to my lips, and whispers, “Then I want to make a believer out of you. This is always. I’ve been yours, I am yours, I will always be yours.”

He kisses me again, a sweet slide of lips and tongues that lets me taste his promises, and he fills my mouth with a gorgeous moan. It’s the opposite of our stage kisses. His hands are on my jaw, my neck, and he’s in control. He pushes, settles into me, demands, and I give. I let him take until I’m dizzy with it, crazy with it, the need to give and the need to receive in perfect balance. I want to give until he gives as much back, until we’re filled with each other, and there’s nothing left of ourselves that doesn’t belong to the other.

With a moan, I rock forward, into him, bringing more of him between my thighs, and I realize I’m nearly hard already.

He pulls away with a lick and a little laugh. “You’re believing something, now, at the very least.”

I laugh at myself. “I always believe in the tangible.”

He gives me a look that’s pure temptation and leans into me again, lifting his hips almost level with mine. “Well, if you only believe in things you can touch…” He moves his hips again and all the proof I need that he wants this is there, hard against my thigh.

I take his hint and move my hand inward, palming over the bulge in his tight jeans. The reaction is exactly what I’ve wanted to make him do since the day he walked into that audition room: he lets out a sugary, low moan and tips his head back, leaving his neck exposed for some other things I’ve wanted to do to him since audition day.

I lick a line straight up his neck, over his chin, and sweep my tongue into his mouth.

His mumbled, “Fuck,” against my lips gets swallowed up by a groan from me, and now it’s me leading. I push him backward a little, just enough that I can stand but not enough to separate us. He’s growing harder under my hand and I give him a little squeeze, pulling another beautiful moan from his throat.

“Adam…” He has to lean up now to push his tongue into my mouth, and I lean down to meet him, flicking my tongue over this.

“Are you sure this is what you want? If this is too weird—”

“You’re not going to try to convince me I’m straight again, are you?” he chides, breathless. “Cause if you want me to do some self-discovery shit about my sexuality, you’re going to have to give me a hand.”

I laugh and slide my hands down to his ass and press him to me. We both sigh at the pressure building. “I think we’ve got that covered.”

“Yeah, besides, when has it ever felt weird? With you, it’s always felt…”

“Right?”

He pulls back, his eyes twinkling brown and gold. “Yeah.”

I kiss him again, words like ‘always’ and ‘mine’ and ‘his’ running through my mind. And as slow as I’d like to take this, for his sake and mine, months of fantasizing about this very moment are making it impossible to slow down. I need to feel his skin against mine, taste the sweat on his forehead, smell the musky desire rising off his skin, watch him tremble and break apart with every stroke of my hand or flick of my tongue.

Tommy seems to be thinking the same thing, and thank fuck for the lacing on these pants, because his hand deftly loosens the strings and works its way inside and wraps around me without hesitation. It feels so fucking good that for a moment I’m scared I might actually cry.

“Every fucking night…” Tommy mumbles as he strokes steadily. “I’ve wanted to do this every fucking night. When the lights go down, or right in front of all of them. Wanted to show you how much I wanted you, wanted to make you come so that I’d know how much you wanted me too…”

“Tommy,” I say to him, and it’s meant as a plea and a warning, somehow translating into both ‘Don’t stop’ and ‘So close.’

He seems to know exactly what I mean and his hand tightens around me, speeding up, and I lose control of my body. I thrust up into his hand, I open my lips wide and let him pillage my mouth.

“So fucking gorgeous.”

They’re the words I’m thinking about him, but he says them to me. My sight goes a little fuzzy, and the pleasure is building to sharp under his hand. “Tommy,” I say again, this time the urgency evident.

“Want that voice moaning my name…only my name…always…” He bites down on my bottom lip and then licks over it, and the counterpoint of pain and pleasure is so deliciously Tommy that it pushes me over the edge. The sharp pleasure uncoils and I thrust up and bite into him too, coming all over his hand.

Tommy keeps his hand on me, a smile tugging up the corners of his lips with every aftershock racing through me. I see it in his eyes – blatant triumph, smug satisfaction, a little relief and a whole lot of lust. He raises his hand to his mouth and licks. I expect him to recoil at the taste, to pull a face, or worse yet, find himself shocked back into the reality of what we’ve just done, but he only hums and turns his hand over to lick more.

“Fuck,” I breathe and take his shirt into my fist, jerking him to me. I’m blissed out, high on the fact that the prettiest boy in the world just got me off, but I’m not too out of it to realize that I’m jealous that I haven’t got to taste him yet.

I cover his mouth with mine, more an assault than a kiss, and the new taste of him mingles with the familiar taste of me, spicy and tangy and good. “Love you,” I mumble against his mouth, and he echoes the words back to me, and for the first time it doesn’t occur to me to argue with him, or ask him to repeat himself for confirmation.

Although I didn’t have it in mind when I picked out Tommy’s costume – well, not consciously, anyways – the buttons on his jeans are a breeze to flick open. I reach in, and Christ, he’s rock hard from getting me off, which is about the sexiest thing ever. It only takes me a second until I’m kneeling in front of him with his pants around his knees, and he reels a bit when his brain catches up to what’s happening. I steady him with one hand while stroking him with another, and hear him whimper up above me.

“Okay?”

Amber eyes stare down at me, wide and desperate and hungry, and he nods. I hold his gaze and lick up his cock slowly, base to tip, lapping at the pre-come gathered there. Tommy makes another noise, halfway between a moan and a cry, and I swirl my tongue against the head of his cock before taking him into my mouth.

“Shit,” Tommy hisses, he leans more weight on me as his knees give, and it’s a great sort of compliment. I may have some doubts about a few of my abilities, but giving head is not one of them. And fuck you, Neil, I’m a rock star at this.

I am overwhelmed by Tommy – the feel of him sliding over my lips, the salt on my tongue, the gasps falling from his mouth every time I take him in all the way. He feels the way I’ve imagined, he tastes the way I’ve imagined. Hell, he even looks the way I’ve imagined, long but not too wide and somehow pretty like the rest of him.

Yeah, you heard me. Tommy Joe has a pretty cock.

“Fuck, Adam,” he whispers as I swallow around him, and I feel his hands dig into my hair and pull. Then, as quickly as they arrived, his hands are gone. “Shit, sorry…”

I look back up, licking him for extra measure, then grab one of his hands and put it back in my hair.

“Oh. I…okay. Girls just usually don’t—”

“Don’t fucking care what girls like,” I say. “Pull my hair.”

He gives an experimental tug that unleashes a moan from me and sort of pants out a laugh. “I’m going to like that.” He pulls my mouth back to where it should be and thrusts himself between my lips again.

Now, I’m known for being a toppy motherfucker and that reputation is well deserved. But more than that, I am a people pleaser, and if Tommy wants a little pleasing, there’s nothing I want more in this world than to please him until he can’t see straight. And if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been wishing he’d grab my hair and take control like this for months. That would have been an excellent eye-opener to the bendiness of his sexuality, and not one I could have argued with.

Tommy lets out something akin to a sob and grinds himself into my mouth, and I let him use me. I concentrate on taking all of him that I can and God in heaven, when he comes it’s like good drugs and Burning Man and a fucking parade all in one. It makes me feel that good, that happy. His come floods my mouth, creamy and tasty and all male, and I swallow it down with reverence. Tommy groans out my name once as his body shudders and collapses. I catch him and lower him down until we’re facing each other, wrapped around each other on the cold dressing room floor. I hold him, stroking his blond hair as he trembles.

“Good?” I ask, and in answer, he cups my chin with shaking hands and licks inside my mouth, sighing when he tastes himself on me.

“Did I pull too hard?”

“You should probably just know right now that there’s not really such a thing as too hard with me.”

Tommy laughs and snuggles closer to me. He’s still trembling, but I can’t take credit for that. The floor is freezing. I see my purple coat out of the corner of my eye and reach for it, pulling the chair it was hanging on over in the process. We both make way for it as I spread it out on the floor, then cuddle together on top of it again.

“Are you still okay?” I ask.

“Quit asking me that,” Tommy says. “I may have been straight until last year, but it’s not like I didn’t know what I was getting into.”

“Well, knowing and doing are two different things—”

“I’ve never felt that good, Adam. Ever.” I look into his eyes. He’s not lying. “You big idiot. If you’d just believed me this morning we could have been doing that all day long. Instead I spent most of the day crying all over Allison.”

“I was just so scared. Somehow the possibility that you loved me was ten times scarier than the thought that you never would.” I try to smile at him. “Forgive me?”

“Yeah, just don’t hurt me again. I mean it. I’ll fuck you up.”

I laugh because even though he’s serious, the thought of sweet little Tommy Joe Ratliff fucking anyone up is comical.

“You forgive Brad yet?”

His question is out of nowhere, or at least it seems that way to me, but when I look carefully at him I can see the apprehension lingering in his eyes. “No. But…he told me that I should let you love me, so… he’s got that going for him now.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Forgive me for being the disbelieving one now…”

“What? You don’t think Brad’s capable of that?”

“Adam,” Tommy says, shaking his head, “I know you love him, and I see what you love about him. I do. But as polite as he is to me when we’re forced to be in the same room, I don’t doubt that he wouldn’t hesitate to off me if he had a chance.”

I think of Brad, all the conniving, manipulative shit he’s pulled and the lies he’s told, and so what if he does some of it because he’s kind of nuts about me? Tommy’s right.

“You don’t have to worry about Brad, Tommy. I wasn’t joking when I said always.” Tommy smiles at that, looks a little comforted, so I crack a joke. “But I don’t think it would hurt to get you a bodyguard next time we see him.”

Tommy laughs, then shrugs. “Nah, you’re a good enough keeper.”

Tommy’s words pull me down off the clouds and events of the past few days slam into my gut. I’d forgotten. In the midst of all this pain and happiness I’d forgotten that tonight we have to try again, we have to try to die again.

Desperate to ignore that and keep us in this blissful cocoon, I press my lips to Tommy’s and it’s like our bodies forget that we should be sated. I’m desperate to feel him again, to hear him moan, to taste him again. When we mold ourselves together, the limited skin on skin contact is far from enough. Greedily, I take the hem of his black shirt in my hands and yank up, pulling it over his head. I’ve seen Tommy without a shirt before but somehow this is different and new. Now I have time to look, explore. He’s stunning. Small, angled in at the waist, the hint of muscle under taut skin.

Tommy watches me as I study him and then lets out a nervous giggle before reaching down to tug off his creepers and the rest of his clothing.

I hum a pleasing little melody. Tommy Joe Ratliff is naked. For me. Sometimes the Universe is too fucking kind. You know, when it’s not being a sadistic bastard.

I suck in sharply as Tommy reaches for my shirt.

“Shhh,” he stills me. “Let me see you.”

I let him undress me, fighting mortification alongside the incredible sensation of his fingertips on my bare skin. When he’s done he just stares, eyes roving over all of me as my face burns. I shut my eyes, wishing I could hide, but then I feel Tommy’s mouth on my chest.

“Maybe Monte was right…” he says as he kisses a trail from one nipple to the other.

“About…?”

“He told me last week that he thinks I should have been with men all along.” Tommy smiles at me, a devilish little grin, and goes back to kissing my chest. “I don’t know. I still have a thing for boobs but… you naked kind of trumps all.”

I raise a brow.

Maybe because he knows I don’t believe him, or maybe because he’s just seeking friction, he wraps his legs around one of mine and I feel the hard press of an erection against my side. I look down, amused and amazed.

“Oh to be…twenty-eight again,” I joke.

Tommy groans and presses harder against me. “Sorry. I’ve wanted this for so long, I think I might be insatiable for a little while.”

“I like a challenge.”

Tommy licks a nipple again. “It’s you, Adam. Monte’s wrong. It’s just you that does this. No one else, man or woman.”

He moves his hips against me again and his need only makes mine evident: I want more.

I wrap my arms around him and pull him so that he’s fully on top of me, rolling my hips against his to prove my point. “I think… I think I’ve got supplies in my makeup bag.”

His eyes widen.

“Don’t worry. I’ll teach you how. It’s not hard…pardon the pun…” I ramble cause god, what am I? Three? How hard is it to say, “If you wanna fuck me, Tommy Joe, there’s a condom over there”?

“Um…” He pushes himself back so that he’s kneeling between my legs.

Shit. I’ve scared him. I sit up so that I can touch him, give him safe contact. “Sorry. We don’t have to. There’s no rush. Hell, we don’t even have to at all. Ever. I just thought—”

“Adam,” he interrupts me. “I want to. It’s just…” He gestures at me. “This isn’t how I pictured it.”

“No?”

“No, it’s…” And now it’s his turn to blush and stammer and act like an immature kid. “I want you on top.”

That sort of makes my world spin. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, that’s what you like, right?” Tommy shrugs and he’s having a hard time looking at me. “So that’s kind of what I’ve always pictured when I’ve thought about it.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s fantasized about me fucking him. And yeah, I could have deduced that from everything he’s already said, but deductions and hearing him say it out loud are two completely different things. That does it. My cock goes from aching to downright throbbing.

And I think I need more details. “And how often do you think about this?”

His color turns from red to deep crimson. “God, Adam. Like, probably twenty times an hour, every day of the week, for the last oh… three, four…six months.”

That almost makes us even.

I lean in and plant sloppy, wet kisses on the side of his neck. “And what, exactly, do you picture happening?”

He closes his eyes, embarrassed, but when he opens them again they’re at half mast, pupils large and black. It’s like seeing him high but so much better because I’m the drug. Then he pushes himself onto my lap, straddling me, flesh against flesh, stoking the fire between us in all the right places. He kisses me deep.

“Mnnn, well first, your fingers in me, working me open.”

I swallow hard before kissing him back. It’s a messy affair. Tongues and teeth and not a lot of finesse. I reach around him, hands skimming along the globes of his ass. Then he gasps as I run a finger lightly over his hole. I draw back, separating my mouth from his just long enough to work my fingers between his lips and get them shiny wet.

I reach around him and let my fingers slide around his hole, and his eyes flutter shut. He moves back against my touch, asking for more, and I oblige. I push two fingers inside him, just enough to get past that tight, stubborn ring of muscle, and Tommy lets out a hiss, followed by a low moan.

“Like that?” I murmur into his neck, then nip at his chin.

“More,” Tommy pleads, and arches back against my hand and I was so fucking wrong. He may have been sexy before, but by far the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen is Tommy with his back arched, wanting to spread himself all over me.

I push up and he presses down and my fingers slide inside him to the hilt. We both curse at the feeling of me stretching him apart.

“Okay?” I ask, and he nods slowly, dazed. I let my fingers slide out, push them back in, and Tommy’s head falls back. “Then what do you see?”

He takes a while to answer. His hips find the rhythm of my hand and he starts to move with me, riding my fingers, back angled and body moving in slow, sensuous circles. He looks like he’s dancing, only even the best dancers I know can’t make themselves look so lost in ecstasy as Tommy does now.

He keeps his body moving, bearing down on my hand, breathing in short, strained gasps. “Then you’re inside me…so deep…”

I gather him closer, selfishly, so that his cock is sliding over mine while he moves, and we both shudder.

He leans down and kisses me, all tongue against tongue. “You’d feel so good, Adam…stretching me apart…slow…the burn and the pain and the…fuck…it’s maddening…”

I crook my fingers and Tommy cries out, pushing down on my hand harder than ever, so I stroke over that spot again, and again. He’s so far gone now, so close to the edge that I don’t think he could handle anything but my fingers right now. And Tommy’s either really been doing his research or he’s a god damned natural at gay sex because before I can even think to do the same, his hand is between us, wrapped around both our cocks, jerking.

Then suddenly the dressing room door opens. I don’t see Neil poke his head in and say, “Adam, why the fuck are you still in here? You need to be onstage in – Fucking hell! Lock the fucking door!” but I can imagine the face he makes. All screwed up and disgusted and pissed. And the thought of my little brother walking in on me with my fingers up Tommy’s ass, both of us in the throes of passion, makes me laugh like nothing in the world could.

Tommy has the same reaction, sliding off me to the floor as he cracks up, clutching his stomach. “Oh my god, Neil’s going to need some eye bleach.”

“Fuck you, Adam!” I hear Neil yell from the other side, muffled. “And Allison’s been done for twenty minutes. Get the fuck onstage.”

I haven’t stopped laughing and neither has Tommy, but for the first time I’m aware that there’s music playing somewhere in this venue, and it’s been playing all along, though I tuned it out to focus on the sexy sounds Tommy was making.

“We’re coming, Neil!” I yell back and Tommy looks over at me and quips, “Almost…” and I lose myself in laughter again.

Neil’s voice floats through the door again as Tommy and I both scramble to get dressed. “Seriously. How much effort does it take to lock the door? Or hang a sock or some shit?” Still giggling, I help Tommy into his jacket and kiss him chastely on the lips as I button his shirt. Then I hear Neil add in a softer, almost warm voice: “And congratulations, by the way…”

“Give us two minutes, Neil, I promise!” I call to him and although I don’t hear him leave, I sense it. Fully dressed, I reach for my hat and set it on my head, twisting it into place. “Ready?” I ask Tommy, who is fully clothed now too, even if he looks like he just got it on with a rock star.

Oh wait… I smile proudly.

“I didn’t do my makeup,” he says with a cute pout. I kiss him again.

“Don’t need it with that skin. Just a little glitter,” I say and reach for a small pot on my makeup counter. He closes his eyes and I brush on a coat of silver glitter onto each eyelid. “And I think this…” I hold the tube of dark red lipstick out for him.

He raises a brow. “Not gonna kiss me tonight?”

I lean down a bit so that we’re eye level, giving him my most intense gaze. “I don’t plan on stopping tonight.”

Tommy whimpers and his eyes flutter shut, so I cram the tube of lipstick in his hand to jerk him back to reality. He’s practiced at this, and applies the dark color without even looking in the mirror. It’s perfect.

“Love you,” he says to me.  
            “Love you,” I tell him in return, and with one cursory glance down at my crotch to make sure my pants are laced properly, and wiggle my brows and say, “Time to put on a show.”

 

*

 

The encore’s been over for fifteen minutes. I’m staring not at my reflection in the mirror, but Tommy’s, and he’s behind me, arms wrapping around my chest, head leaning against my shoulder. We look kind of beautiful like this. Calm. Satisfied. Fulfilled. Even in the stale light of the makeup mirror, we sort of glow.

“You were amazing out there,” Tommy whispers as he leans up, lips catching the skin of my neck. “I think that was the best I’ve heard you sing.”

“It was certainly the best Fever ever,” I snicker, thinking of how I dropped about half the lyrics to kiss Tommy instead, the way the little tease had sucked my finger, and then of course how I’d pressed him against the stairs when the lights went down and stuck my tongue down his throat.

“Thank you, Adam.”

I cock my head and raise a brow at his reflection. “What are you thanking me for?”

“For giving me this, the past year. Everything. I never thought I’d get the chance to do this. Being in your band has been…” Tommy scratches the back of his head. “I can’t even describe it. But thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” I turn away from our reflections to the real Tommy. I feel a blush working its way up my neck. “Except for this morning I’ve loved every minute I got to spend with you.”

There’s noise from down the hall, shouts from dancers and band mates, doors slamming, the grinding of rolling luggage. The rented SUV awaits us in the parking garage, waiting for me to steer it up that mountain and meet a drunk driver head on.

I pull Tommy as tightly to me as I can and bury my face in his hair. He clings to me, grabbing at my shirt, pressing his face hard into my chest, and for several long minutes we just stay like that. I listen to him breathe; I feel his heart beating, all the wonderful, tell-tale signs of life. All the essentials of it. Things that will soon cease for both of us.

I close my eyes and go over my options again, just in the hopes that a new one has arisen since the last time, but to no avail. I cannot keep him here any more than I can prevent others from dying if he does not. My only real option is to make sure that car hits us hard enough to kill us both.

But facing that cruel reality can be postponed.

“We need to go, Adam. We can’t be late again.”

He makes a move to pull away but I only tighten my arms around him. “You don’t have to go.”

He lifts his head so that I can see his watery, yet determined eyes. “Don’t. Don’t do this again. You know I have to. And this time you have to let me, no matter what. Be my keeper.”

I give my head a brief shake. “Stay with me. Another day.”

“Adam, no…”

“I barely…” Fuck. My voice gives out, like it’s lost the will to try to be strong. Seems about right. “We haven’t had enough time. We find out we love each other and then… then I barely get to hold you? Or kiss you or…”

“Please, Adam,” he begs. He’s biting down on his lip, eyes closed. He looks how I feel, like all the pain inside could make your heart stop beating if you let it. “It’s never going to be enough, okay? Never. A hundred years won’t be enough with you, and I’m already on borrowed time and…” Tommy pushes away from me with a curse and turns his back. His hands move, wiping at his face, and I understand then that this is cruel of me to ask on some level. The more we put this off, the harder it will be to let go.

“I’m sorry,” I say and that gets his attention. He turns back around, face red and teary. “It’s just so unfair.”

He raises his head, face stoic. “It is. But it isn’t. If I had let myself die that first night, we wouldn’t have had any of this.” I watch his shoulders rise and fall with a calming breath. “It should work tonight. I did what I needed to do.”

“And what was that?” I ask.

 “Tell you,” Tommy says simply. When I only look at him questioningly in response, he explains. “When I was dying that first night and I asked for more time, it wasn’t because I had this list of things I still wanted to do. I’m very happy with what I’ve done with my life, the small successes I’ve had and the friends I’ve made.  But I hadn’t told you that I loved you. And I couldn’t go on without doing that, without letting you know. I needed for you to know.”

His words sink into me, down inside my stomach, warm and stirring. Then it dawns on me: all those tense moments, like he was on the edge of something, the stuttering words that never made it past the first sentence, the looks of defeat. “You tried to tell me…”

“So many times,” Tommy says with a little laugh. “There was always some kind of interruption, or it was never the right moment. I was beginning to think that maybe it was the Universe’s last laugh. Give me time to tell you, then make it impossible.”

“You were going to tell me at the cabin.” He nods. I smile a little bit, curious. “How?”

“Rose petals on your bed and singing underneath your window.”

My eyes widen. “You weren’t…”

Tommy laughs and I can feel my muscles relax at the silky sound of it. “No. But Liz said there was a pretty dock out on the lake. I didn’t have much of a plan other than taking a walk with you to it and hoping I didn’t sound like an idiot.”

I think about that, what it would have been like to go to that little cabin in the middle of nowhere. Tommy would have asked me to come outside with him and we’d walk along a moonlit path in silence, until we reached the dock. We’d stand at the edge, looking out over the silvery water, and he’d tell me that he’s been in love with me for months. And I’d tell him the same. And we’d live until we were ninety, dying old in our beds, hands entwined, wedding bands on our fingers.

It’s a beautiful picture, and it feels so right to see. But it’s just a cruel tease, a fucking illusion. Any hope of that was gone the minute that drunk swerved into Tommy’s car. Before I can stop it, I let out a sob and clap my hand my mouth to cover it.

“Adam,” Tommy says, alarmed, and I feel his arms enveloping me.

“I should have been in that car with you. We should have left together and we would have made it to that cabin and we would have been together for days by now. Instead of this stupid fucking day over and over, we could have started our always.” He holds onto me, letting my tears drench the London Underground shirt he’s wearing. “The irony is that I was so worked up from the concert, from the way you kissed me, that I asked that boy to come back to my dressing room. I just… wanted to get rid of some of that need for you, I guess. And if I’d just gone with you guys I wouldn’t have needed a substitute.”

I feel Tommy shake his head and I pull back to look at him. He meets my gaze only for a second before letting it wander to the floor, embarrassed. “No, the irony is that I was so hurt when I walked in on you with him that I didn’t care what happened to me, and I didn’t wear a seatbelt. Then…all I cared about was living another day so that I could tell you.”

I draw him into my arms again and kiss his forehead. It’s all so stupid, so pointless, and it’s still so unfair. But there’s no reason to curse fate now. There’s no way to fight it. Destiny is in motion, the inertia spinning us forward helplessly, and there’s nothing left for us to do but float. Follow the current. Get pulled into the depths.

And in spite of how it’s wronged me, I am incredibly grateful to whatever power allowed us more time together.

“I love you,” I whisper to him, and he echoes it back to me with so much conviction it makes my heart constrict.

“I love you, too, Adam.” He leans up and kisses me once, sweetly. “It’s time to go.”

We walk in silence through the venue to the parking garage, where the SUV sits waiting. Tommy and I slide into our seats and I start the car and pull out of the parking garage slowly. Tommy doesn’t direct me today. I already know where we’re going. In too short of time, Puyallup proper becomes merely a cloud of hazy lights behind us. The rain is coming down hard, harder than I remember from last night, and the windshield wipers cut through the thick splatters on the glass with a rhythmic swoosh. It’s so dark out here on the lonely country road that I feel like Tommy and I are the only two people on earth. Tommy reaches over and rests his hand on top of mine on the console.

“I’m scared,” he whispers. I squeeze his hand and want to look over, but the road is too unfamiliar and the rain too heavy. “I think I prefer not knowing it’s coming. And…at least yesterday, I really wanted to do this. I just wanted it to end. Now, with you…it’s so much harder…”

I nod. It takes all I have not to tell him we’re not doing this, that we can just keep repeating this day for eternity; it takes everything not to beg him to let me turn the car around. But it’s futile, and that’s not what he needs. Not now.

“I’m here,” I whisper back. I risk a glance at him. His eyes are shut and his other hand is pressed to his mouth in a fist. It looks like he’s praying. He might be.

“Help me, Adam,” he whispers again. The sign for Mt. Sterling looms ahead and I slow down, taking the turn at a crawl. “Make me brave enough to go on this time.”

“I said I’d be here, Tommy. I said I’d come with you.” There’s a gravel shoulder as the hill begins its climb, and I pull off into it, pushing the SUV into park. I unbuckle my seatbelt and turn my body to face him.

“What are you doing?” he says, panicked. “We can’t be late. Put your seatbelt on.”

“No.” Tommy gapes at me and I can’t tell if he’s angry or shocked. “I told you, I’m going with you.”

“And that’s fine, I asked you to, but you’ve got to buckle up. If you’re even the slightest bit hurt I can’t—”

“Tommy,” I say, booming voice slicing through his words. “Listen to me. I’m going with you.”

I see the realization flash in his brown eyes and he sits back in his seat slowly. “No,” he says, his head moving slowly from side to side in argument. “No, Adam.”

“Yes. I’m going with you.”

“I won’t let you.”

“This isn’t up for debate.”

“The hell it’s not!” Tommy shouts. “Let me out. I’ll walk up to the top.”

I put on the child locks faster than he can blink. “No you won’t. Don’t try anything stupid, Tommy. You know I’m bigger than you. Don’t fight this.”

He pales to a shade whiter than the moon then gives his head one more insolent shake. “I can’t let you die for me, Adam.”

“I’m not dying for you.” His eyes snap up to meet mine, puzzled. I reach out and fold my hand over his. “This is purely selfish. I won’t live without you. I can’t, especially now, knowing what we could have had.”

A tremor rocks his slight frame. “I can’t let you do this. You have so much left for you, so much left to do. You’re supposed to have a long career, Adam. You’re supposed to write amazing music and win Grammys and hell, probably an Oscar or something. And you’re supposed to die a very old, happy man. Probably in Vegas. Wearing a rhinestone suit, and with some floozy sleeping in your bed.”

“You want me to die like Elvis?”

My lips curl up because I want to laugh, but Tommy only cries harder. “I’m serious, Adam. It’s my time, not yours.”

I shake my head and reach over, pulling his chin up with my finger. “It’s my time too, Tommy.”

“No, I’m the one Fate or Death or whoever wants. Not you.”

I nod patiently. “I know, but it’s my time now too. Tommy…I need to tell you…”

He wipes his eyes and stares at me, ready to listen.

“Yesterday, when I promised you that I would go with you, I’d already decided on this. I was going to make sure that I died too, because I couldn’t even comprehend living my life without you. So I went last night knowing that I wouldn’t make it out alive. But the thing was…” I take a deep breath and push onward. “When that car hit me and I was dying on the side of the road, and you weren’t, I couldn’t go on either. I wanted to be there for you. I didn’t want you to be without me, without a keeper, and I guess maybe…maybe I knew there was something we both needed to do. Something we both needed to say. So I begged to come back too. I should have died, but I asked for more time. It’s my turn too, Tommy.”

Tommy shakes his head. “No. That doesn’t make sense. I’m the only one who’s supposed to die here.”

“Tommy,” I say, my voice deep and knowing, “it’s our decision. Don’t you see? You decided not to go on, and now you’ve decided you should. If that car had hit you last night, this would have been over; I would be alone. I made the decision to die and then went back on it when I realized we weren’t going together. But I’m sure now. I’ve decided now. If we want this to be the end tonight, it’s the end.”

“No, Adam, no,” Tommy says. “I can’t… I can’t let you. I can’t give you permission to do this with me.”

“I’m not asking for your permission. I’m asking you to be there with me.” I’m using his words against him now, and I know it’s a dirty move, but I can’t let him fight this. “Honestly, would you want to live without me?”

Tommy looks away. Some of his tears fall onto our joined hands. “No.”

“No,” I echo. “So don’t make me live without you. Please, Tommy. Be there with me. Go with me.”

Our eyes connect and I see so much fear, so much love, so much pain in his. My reflection in his irises reveals that I look the same.

Then, to my relief, he nods once, consenting. It feels like my soul is light inside me, tittering, like it’s preparing for flight. I put the SUV in drive and set my foot on the gas. The car creeps up the hill, the rain coming down harder than ever, and I hope we’re not too late. Tommy’s hand is in mine. His pulse is quick but his grip isn’t hard. We’re ready for this. He’s here with me, and I’m here with him. With Tommy next to me, death is no longer frightening; mortality is reduced to a meager word. We are far more infinite. We are never-ending. We are always.

The car reaches the top of the hill, and the curve in the road awaits. I breathe in and feel the life within myself – my heart beating, my lungs expanding, my blood running – and know it’s the last time I will.

Tommy looks over at me as I guide the car around the bend. His face is full of wonder, of warmth, of love and concern. It’s like all of my favorite things about him combined, and I’m so damned lucky that it’s the last thing I’ll see. His pretty mouth moves, and I hear him whisper sweetly, “I love you, Adam.”

There are bright lights up ahead. Tires screech, a car careens out of control towards ours. I have just enough time to look over at Tommy and tell him that I love him too before my world goes black.

 

*

 

 _I’m falling._

 _I fall and fall. I fall into darkness, into silence. I keep waiting for impact, waiting for the ground to meet me, but it never does. The fall is slow, unhurried, controlled and measured. And I know this time that I’m not really falling at all. I’m drifting. Floating. Suspended. Held up yet held down._

 _But then the memories come. My greatest hits. My favorite things. I see my mother. I see Eber. I see Neil. I see Brad smiling, Monte hugging his children, my dancers laughing. I see nameless faces in huge crowds; I hear the clattering of drumstick, the hum of feedback from monitors, the scratch of guitar strings. I feel the microphone in my hands and the wonderful, used feeling of my warm vocal cords._

 _And then I see Tommy. Beautiful, loving Tommy. I see his smile, I hear him laugh. I feel the press of his hand in mine, the tingle of his lips on my skin._

 _And it’s not enough. Not nearly._

 _There’s so much I haven’t said, there’s so much I don’t know, there’s so much we haven’t done. And I know I can’t have it all. I can’t have a hundred years and I can’t have him tell me he loves me by a moonlit lake, but we can still have a little more. Just another day._

 _“No,” I say, though I don’t know who I’m talking to. “I won’t go. I can’t yet. I need more time. Please, I need more time with him…”_

 _Somehow, some way, I am granted an answer to my plea. It’s as if I am cut free, released from the heaviness around me, and I’m floating again. I surrender control and let the tide take me as it surges toward the surface. I am relieved. I sleep._


	6. Day Six

_The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round…_

I feel Monte’s familiar touch, shaking me out of dreamland, and hear him say with affection, “Get your ass up, Lambert. Fucking diva, sleeping until eleven…”

            I chuckle at that and turn over with a stretch and a wide smile. “And what if I don’t want to? I’m a big rock star now. I think I should be able to sleep in as late as I want.”

            “Then _you_ deal with Lane, rock star,” he says, eyeing me suspiciously. I only turn up the wattage on my shit eating grin in response. “What’s up with you, anyways? Are you drunk?”

            “Can’t a guy smile first thing in the morning?” I ask, and his lip curls in disgust, which makes me laugh. I sit up and pat a corner of the bed next to me. He plunks himself down and I lean in close to him, whispering conspiratorially. “It’s September twenty-first, Monte.”

            He snorts at me. “Yeah. So…?”

            “So it’s the Un-Last Concert tonight,” I continue. “We get to play again tonight, and eat pancakes again this morning, and in between then there are a bunch of hours that I get to spend with Tommy Joe. And I want to spend every single minute with him, Monte. It’s going to be a great day. I love September twenty-first.”

            His good-natured amusement at my exuberance quickly fades into concern. “Adam, you should know…Tommy was—”

            “On Liz’s bus last night, I know.” I clap a hand on his shoulder. “They’re not together. Monte, I’m in love with Tommy. Did you know that?”

            Monte smirks, tugging at his goatee. His eyes twinkle, and there’s a bit of pride in them, a bit of smugness, like he’s delighted that I finally figured out something he’s known for months. The bastard.

            “Yeah, I kinda figured.”

            “He’s in love with me too.”

            Monte’s hand freezes mid-tug. “But he’s with Liz.”

            I nod. “He fell asleep on her bus while they were talking about me. He loves me. Monte, we’re together.”

             A smile spreads across Monte’s face then, toothy and bright. “It’s about fucking time. He’s been all messed up about you for months.”

            My insides melt and turn to mush. “I know the feeling.”

            Again, Monte looks smug at already knowing this information. “Wondered when the two of you were going to figure it out. Congratulations, man.”

            “Thanks. Now get out of here and let me get some pants on.” Monte lets out a robust peal of laughter as he stands and makes his way out of my lair. “Oh, and Monte… can you do me a favor?”

            He turns back. “Sure.”

            “We’re all headed to that cabin, right? At least I heard mention of that plan.” Monte nods. “Well, I know you could probably fly back home tonight to see the kids, but could you come to the cabin? I’d like everyone to be together tonight.”

            “I wouldn’t miss it,” Monte says, as if the idea to go home early had never occurred to him.

            I thank him and he leaves, leaving me to pull on sweats and an old Queen t-shirt. I’m glad he promised to be there. The rest of my little family is going to need his strong, fatherly presence when they learn that two of their own have passed away.

            When I throw open my door, my friends are in the positions I’ve grown accustomed to over the last few days. Only Tommy is missing, and when he climbs on the bus he runs to me, throwing himself into my arms. His mouth crashes down over mine, needy and frantic, and I kiss him back the same way. The band and dancers react, of course, but I tune them out, concentrating on his small frame wrapped around mine. He’s crying a little, just enough for my face to feel damp. 

            “It didn’t work,” he breathes as we pull away. “Why didn’t it work? Are we stuck here?”

            “It’s my fault,” I answer him, punctuating the explanation with a kiss. “I couldn’t go on. I’m so sorry, Tommy. Forgive me. I asked for another day. I screwed up so bad yesterday and…I just wanted a whole day with you, knowing that I’m yours. Knowing you love me.”

            He relaxes in my arms and stares at me, then the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile, tears abandoned. “You’re right. A whole day. It’ll never be enough, but we deserve a whole day.”

            The rest of the crew goes dead silent, and I don’t know how much exactly they heard of our conversation, but the way they’re staring open-mouthed tells me that they have no earthly clue what any of it is about.

            “There’s so much we couldn’t do yesterday,” I say. “There’s so much I still want to do.”

            “Adam,” Tommy says, practically purring. His eyebrow makes a high, pointed arch and he runs a hand down my chest, flirting in the exaggerated way I usually only see onstage. He leans in close, lips touching the shell of my ear, so that I’m the only one that can hear his words. “Did you come back from the dead to have sex with me?”

            I laugh, but I’m blushing because in a way, he’s totally right. Sex is really important to me. It is in any relationship. But in a relationship that’s cut too short by time and we’re only given one chance… Yeah. I want to have sex with Tommy. I want to experience sex with someone I love just one more time before I die.

“Maybe. But it’s only one of the _many_ things I want to do with you today,” I say and try to shrug it off, but he’s beaming at me triumphantly. “Don’t get a big head about it.”

“So are you together or not?” I hear someone ask and everyone’s head snaps in Lane’s direction. I hadn’t even heard her march onto the bus. It’s the question on everyone’s minds because they all chime in agreement with her and Lane lifts her chin in our direction, expecting an answer on everyone’s behalf.

“Yeah,” Tommy says simply, and Taylor bursts out in applause, cracking the rest of the group up.

Lane just shakes her head and begins writing on her clipboard. I know what she’s doing. She’s imagining statements, photo ops, rumor control, taking away Twitter from Tommy and me so that we can’t tweet each other sexy filth, and I smile. It’s really too bad I’ll never see the reaction from my fans.

Soon we’re tucked in at the IHOP, my arm around Tommy’s shoulders, Isaac and Monte shaking their heads at us or pulling faces in mock disgust at our stolen kisses and other miscellaneous displays of affection. When the waitress comes by, Monte starts into his usual order, but I put a hand up to halt him. I give my most charming smile to the poor girl, even batting my eyelashes a little. “Bring an order of every type of pancake you have, except for those god awful cardboard Harvest Grain ones, just leave a couple pots of coffee on the table, and…” I add in a wink for good measure. “Can you just bring like, a big plate of bacon? I mean, _piled_ with bacon. Pounds of it.”

The girl giggles and promises she can, eyeing me hopefully, and I wonder how my tricks work when Tommy’s practically sitting in my lap. It should be like neon, sparkly sign above my head, pulsing the word _gay_ over and over.

Whatever. I’m not going to question whatever gets me a plate of bacon.

We spend the meal talking, laughing, enjoying the company of my band mates. When Tommy passes on a second helping, I push a stack of blueberry pancakes in his direction and say, “Eat up. You’re going to need lots of energy today.”

That, of course, earns us a round of solid teasing from Monte and Isaac, and I love every second of it. Tommy’s face is tomato red and more than a little adorable, but I wasn’t kidding. I have plans for him, and he’s going to need sustenance.

Stuffed full of good food and high on laughter and friendship, Tommy and I head back to my bus, bidding Monte and Isaac goodbye amid another bout of teasing. When we board the bus, the dancers are all busy laughing as they stuff things into duffel bags.

Terrance is the first one to spot us and gives us a wink. “We’ll be out of here in just a minute.”

“You don’t have to leave,” I say dumbly.

Sasha snorts. “We love you guys, and we’re really happy that you’re finally together, but there is no way we’re going to listen to _that_ for the next three hours.”

“Yeah,” Taylor adds. “It’s bad enough we’ve had to listen to you talk in your sleep all tour long. ‘Oh, Tommy…feels so good, Tommy…’” He makes his voice go all high-pitched and whiny in some horrible impression of me. That is not what my voice sounds like at all, thank you very much.

I flip him off while Tommy cracks up next to me. “I do not do that.”

“Yeah, you do,” Terrance says, and Sasha nods along with him as she zips up her duffel.

“And Liz says you weren’t any better last night, Tommy Joe, so you can quit your laughing now.” Tommy flushes and sticks his tongue out at her, and she answers in kind.

“So work out all that sexual tension, okay?” Taylor says, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. “We’re all about to suffocate from it.”

They leave us, their laughter echoing around the bus after them. Tommy and I look at each other, and I can see in his eyes the same feelings I’m having. We’re finally alone, finally together, and we have hours to ourselves. The possibilities are endless, infinite, exciting, and overwhelming.

“So…” Tommy begins, looking around himself in mock cluelessness. “What do you want to do now?”

With a growl, I pull him into my lair with all the elegance of a cave man.

 

            *

 

            When making love to Tommy, there’s no room for pretense, there’s no need for a show, no cause for a façade of over-confidence. Pushing inside him, feeling the stretch of his satiny heat all around me, I find myself able to get lost completely, to let go. The imperfections on my skin turn into the splotches of paint on a canvas as he admires me like I’m priceless artwork; the extra pounds I detest become reasons to be grateful that his hands can fan out and touch more of me. My pride vanishes as I find myself begging him for more of his hands, more of his mouth, more of his body. My embarrassment fades as we laugh at the creaky bed, at bumping our heads together as we roll over. My desire for control wanes as he gently guides my body into the rhythm he needs.

It’s all new, all fresh and clean. With Tommy the motions are all the same, the same dance I’ve been doing since I was twenty-one, but every act has new meaning, new purpose. A touch carries the weight of a dozen discoveries; a kiss opens up a hundred revelations. We learn ourselves as we learn each other. We pour everything that might have been into each caress and each sigh. We rewrite the pain we see in each other’s eyes. The past and the future cease to exist and there is only this – us, now, bodies entwined, moving as one.

Anything that might have come before this, anything lingering, anything we might still be holding onto, it all gets swept aside as our bodies tense and shake. Any expectations or hopes for a future are freed and forgotten as our voices peak and crest, and we fall into each other like new people – fulfilled and transformed.

            We lie together in the dim light of the bus, bodies still fused together, nothing between us but promises. The silence is heavy, restless, as if it, too, is facing the inevitability that it will not last forever.

It’s Tommy who breaks it.

“Adam,” he mumbles against my neck, and I stroke a hand down his back to let him know I’m listening. “Do you believe in Heaven?”

            I brush blond hair out of his eyes. “No. I used to believe in reincarnation, but now I kind of think maybe that’s a cruel idea.”

            He hums lightly in agreement. I wonder what he’s thinking. He’s never been the type for sentiment, myths, or blind faith, but maybe that’s changed. “Do you?”

            “No. I’ve never been able to believe in it. Even now. Maybe especially now,” he answers and falls silent. A few minutes pass with no sound but the rumble of tires underneath us. Then I hear him say, “I hope I’m wrong.”

I hope he’s wrong too. I hope that after this, wherever we are, we can still laugh together, still hold each other, still make music together.

“Talk to me,” I say, turning us a little so that we can snuggle into each other better.

“About what?”

“About you,” I say. He looks like he wants to laugh. “What? We got cheated out of the whole dating thing. We’re not going to get the traditional courtship with several long candlelit dinners or picnics in the park. So let me get to know you.”

He does laugh then. “Adam, you know everything about me.”

“I’m sure not everything,” I protest. “And I want to know everything. I want to know all of Tommy Joe Ratliff’s deepest, darkest secrets. Especially the ones about the devastatingly handsome, impossibly talented Adam Lambert.”

Tommy throws his head back laughing. It’s beautiful, like children singing Christmas carols. “Where to start?”

“Start with the juicy stuff,” I urge, and he obliges.

 

*

 

“So you and Tommy, huh?”

Neil hands me chamomile tea with honey, just the way I like it. I smile into the cup as I take my first sip. “Yep.”

“Finally.”

“Yep,” I say again. The roadies are working, Neil’s watching carefully, I’m proud of him as usual and more fucking grateful than ever that he’s with me on this tour. “Thanks for telling him to go for it, by the way.”

Neil doesn’t ask me how I know that. “You’re welcome, though I can’t take all the credit. Liz and Allison were your fucking champions. And you know, I don’t know how he does it, but Monte barely said a word and yet somehow he’s like a puppet master in this whole thing. It’s kind of creepy.”

I laugh and take another drink of tea. Neil calls out to a roadie and tells him not to bother that damned cord again, and I take the moment to prepare myself for what I have to say next. The words are practically memorized by now, as I’ve been practicing everything I need to say to my brother since I got off the bus this morning.

“Neil, I know Mom’s birthday is coming up and we’re going to be in London and all, so I’ve arranged for Mom and Dad to come to London to see us.”

“Dad?” Neil asks, turning to me sharply. “You actually invited Eber?”

“Yes.” I inhale and push through. “Divorce or not, we’re a fucking family. And Mom deserves us all together on her day.” That part kind of twists my heart. We’re never going to be all together again. At least I’m getting her the closest thing she can get. “And they still kind of get along, right?”

“There’s no ‘kind of’ about it, Adam. They still love each other, really,” Neil says, voice softer than usual. “Who do they always call whenever they need someone to talk to?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I say, relenting. They call each other. Despite Eber’s fuck ups, despite Mom’s resentment, they’re still each other’s number one on speed dial. And I’d say that I don’t get it, that I can’t even fathom that kind of relationship after that kind of hurt, but the whole thing kind of reminds me of Brad. If someone took a glance at my speed dial numbers, they’d see the truth: I get it. All too well.

“They’ll be fine. Personally, I think they could both use a little family time. Mom’s kinda—”

“Lonely,” I finish and Neil snorts.

“Yeah, though she’d never admit it. But she calls—”

“All the freaking time,” I laugh, almost choking on my tea.

“Seriously! All the time. When the fuck did she become the stereotypical Jewish mother? And Dad…well…” I look at Neil. There’s something going on that I can’t read in his eyes, but it’s not because I’m out of touch with Neil. He’s far closer to Dad than I am and has been for a while. Whatever’s going on with Dad, Neil’s obviously privy to that information, and I’d be the last to know.

“Is he okay?”

Neil shrugs. “He could use some perspective.”

I don’t press Neil for anything further, but it’s not because I don’t care about Dad. It’s because it’s my own damned fault that I don’t know what’s going on. When he detached himself from Mom, I detached myself from him. At the time I’d felt he’d deserved it, that I was punishing him somehow. Now it’s hard to say who really got punished in this whole mess.

“There’s one more thing,” I say. I remove an envelope from my pocket, careful not to spill my tea. It’s just plain and white, long, and has only one sheet of folded notebook paper inside, but it contains the most precious words I’ve ever written. It took me a mere fifteen minutes to write, time tucked between all the preparations for the concert tonight, but that’s because when it came down to it, I didn’t have to search for things to say. Words flowed from my pen like a rhyme I’ve known since childhood, and I guess that’s not too far off from the reality.

I hand Neil the envelope. “It’s Mom’s present. Make sure she gets this. On her birthday.”

Neil takes my offering and turns it over, looking for a label or something that might explain. “Okay, but…you are going to be there, right? I mean, you can’t invite us all to London and then not be there for her birthday.”

My throat tightens painfully and I have to swallow to get it loose enough to talk. There’s a part of me, a huge part, that just wants to break down and cry and tell Neil that this is it, that this is the last conversation we’ll really have alone, that I invited Eber on this trip because Mom’s going to need someone to lean on because she’s going to fall apart when I’m gone. She loves me so much and depends on Neil and me so much and… how the fuck can I even do this to her? What kind of son am I?

I press my thumbs into my eyes, forcing the tears that have formed in them to stay put, then I laugh as lightly and casually as I can. The lie tastes horrible in my mouth. “Of course I’ll be there. It’s just…well, you know how I lose things. And forget things. And I’ll have so many interviews and other bullshit going on that day, I just need you to keep it safe. Okay? Promise me you won’t lose it?”

“I promise,” he says, crossing his heart like a child as he folds the envelope into his back pocket. Then he moves toward the stage, and I know he’s going to hop up on it and instruct his crew, but I just can’t let him go yet. I reach out and pull at the sleeve of his Grateful Dead t-shirt, one I’m certain I used to see Dad wear when we were kids.

He lets me pull him back, giving me a look that’s equal parts amused and concerned.

“Sorry,” I say as a way to begin. There’s more to this conversation that I’ve memorized, and I can’t let it go unsaid. “I just…I wanted to say thanks for coming. On tour, I mean. Maybe you just did it because you needed the rent money or to get Mom off our backs, but…thanks. Not just cause you’re good at this, either, although I’m certainly grateful that worked out and I didn’t have to fire my own brother, but anyways…” _Christ, Adam, just say it._ “You, um… you made this tour feel like home, no matter how far from it we were.”

Neil stares at me, unblinking. “Jesus, dude. I thought we weren’t doing this shit because this isn’t really the last concert?”

“I know, we’re not, I just…had to tell you.”

He continues to stare at me, but the sharpness in his eyes fades to something much gentler. “Sentimental bastard,” he says, finally, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t have missed it, you know? My big brother on his first sold out tour. The first of many.”

My eyes fill and I don’t bother to hide it. _The first of many._ Should have been, Neil. And I would have wanted you there for all of them.

Neil hugs me, a strong squeeze with a bit of a shake. He doesn’t say I love you, and neither do I. I wonder for a fleeting moment if I’ll regret that before deciding I won’t. We’ve never really used words to say that. Hugs, playful banter, invites on tours, making tea a specific way, drawing cartoons – that’s more our style.

I leave him and search out my dressing room, a feeling of completion tight in my gut. I can cross Neil and Mom off the list for goodbyes, but I’m going to need to see Tommy a little before I can feel brave enough to say goodbye to Brad.

My stomach flips upside down at the mere thought. But when I open the dressing room door and Tommy’s on the faux leather couch, plucking the strings of his acoustic guitar and looking more in love and at peace than I’ve ever seen him, weightlessness overcomes me. I jumped in front of a car for this man; I died so that I wouldn’t have to be without him; I came back from the dead to be with him again. I can do the impossible, if only when it comes to Tommy.

So, I guess I’ve got the strength to call Brad and say goodbye.

“Sing for me?” Tommy asks, shy, as if we didn’t see each other naked just this morning.

I nod and join him on the couch, and he moves his fingers and starts playing something I’ve never heard before, though when I open my mouth, I know the words.

 

*

 

It’s raining more today than it has on all of the other September twenty-firsts I’ve lived through.

I’m on the stage, my back against the floor, knees bent, eyes heavenward. Raindrops hit my face, splatter on the wood of the stage floor, and ping against the scaffolding that holds up the lights. I’m not worried. A show in the rain might be fun – dancing around all soaked, clothes plastered to us, my hair and Tommy Joe’s making little rain showers as we whip it around.

Damn, he’d look pretty all wet.

I grin up at the sky and challenge the clouds to bring it on. Why not? Hell, _something_ out there listens to me. Maybe whatever it is will give me wet Tommy, too.

But the phone in my hand is warm and heavy and it’s not my purpose to lie here and fantasize. I owe something to Brad.

I touch the first number on my speed dial and call. He answers on the first ring.

“Wondered when you’d call, babe. You crying yet?”

I’m not, not just yet, but I don’t have any doubt that I will be by the time we hang up.

“Brad, there’s something I need to tell you.”

I hear him suck in a breath. “Okay. Should I be sitting down?”

“Yeah,” I respond. A raindrop hits my forehead and I find myself distracted by its coolness. It’s soothing, almost sensual. I really should have spent more time in the rain. “Go out on the balcony, away from Cassidy. He doesn’t need to hear this.”

“How did you know Cassidy’s here?”

“I heard him say something when you picked up the phone,” I lie. It’s far easier than the truth.

Brad hums, then there’s the familiar sound of a glass door sliding shut and then faint sounds of traffic. Sounds that I’m used to. Sounds of our apartment. Sounds of _Brad’s_ apartment.  
            “Okay, I’m out on the balcony.” I hear creaking as he settles into an old folding chair we bought years ago for Burning Man. “Just tell me. Are we going to have _that_ conversation?”

“What conversation?”

“The conversation we’ve needed to have for years now.”

I smear the drops of rain over my face. God, it feels good. “Yes. But there’s something else I need to tell you first.”

“Okay,” Brad says and breathes out. “Let’s hear it.”

I close my eyes and I can picture him so perfectly. Bare feet propped up on the railing, staring nervously at the aloe plant on the glass table that refuses to die even though he never waters it, worrying his bottom lip between his white teeth and still managing to look pretty.

“I’m in love.”

There’s a pause. “Okay. And how does this factor into the conversation we need to have?”

I frown. “That’s it? No, ‘Who is he, Adam?’ or ‘Congratulations on finding love again, Adam’ or, I don’t know, a ‘Fuck you’?”

“It’s Tommy,” Brad says, bored, “and I’ll congratulate you if you want to hear me say those words, and fuck you. How’s that?”

“Brad…”

“Well, what do you want me to say? I’ve known you were in love with Tommy for months. I didn’t really want you to figure that out, though. I was hoping you’d never realize it, actually, because I’m a selfish bitch. But it’s clear you know it now so…great. Congratulations. But hearing you say it doesn’t exactly make me want to do a dance of joy.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, quickly and sincerely. “I didn’t mean to… I just expected a reaction.”

“And I’m hoping for more information. Does he love you back? And what does that mean for us? What has your newfound love for the cute blond bassist revealed to you about us, Adam?”

Fuck, he knows me so well. Too well.

“He’s in love with me.” I give him a second or two to say something, but Brad stays silent. “I’m sorry about that weekend I came home. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I should have stayed away.”

“No,” Brad says, but there’s no acidity in his argument. “I mean, I probably let it raise my hopes more than I should have, but you know me. The ever-optimist. I saw love in your eyes and it was wonderful to see that again, even if it wasn’t for me. But I also saw a lot of pain, and I’d like to think I eased a little of that while you were here.”

It’s like I feel his warm, comforting hands slide over my skin when he says that. “You did.”

“So, he loves you too?”

“Yeah, he told me last night. Well, I guess the night before. I’m getting my days mixed up…”

I hear Brad sniff, and I can’t tell if it’s indignation or if he’s at the beginning of a good cry. “And how did you react?”

I chuckle a little. “With proper disbelief.”

“I’m sure you did. A gorgeous, talented, supposedly straight boy claiming he’s in love with little old you? Preposterous.”

“You truly know me, Brad.”

“Of course I do. And I remember how hard it was to convince you that I loved you.” Brad heaves out a breath. “So, did he convince you?”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re happy and together and…I’m assuming you didn’t call just to tell me that everything’s over between us, right? And by ‘everything’ I mean my silly little fantasies, of course…”

I don’t say anything. Instead, I stare up at the clouds as they drop rain at me. The raindrops almost seem to curve as they come closer, but they hit my face so they must be falling straight.

“Adam?”

I wipe water off my cheeks. “Sorry. They’re not silly little fantasies. I had them too. I couldn’t imagine ever finding anyone as good for me as you. I couldn’t imagine loving anyone even half as much as I loved you, so…I guess it makes sense that I felt like one day we’d find ourselves together again. And I guess it makes sense that because I loved you so much, you were the one that could have hurt me the most. So I kept hoping to recover from that, and to be with you again like we were, like nothing ever went wrong.”

I hear a car horn on his end of the line. On mine, the rain plays a somber tune on the scaffolding and the tarps protecting the equipment.

“What are you saying?” he finally asks. “That you feel more for Tommy than you ever felt for me? Because, Adam, telling me you’re with someone so as to not let me go on hoping is one thing, but telling me he means more to you than I ever could is just—”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all.” I rub my forehead, trying to figure out how to say this. “As you said, we have roots together. It’s not possible to separate us. I’m never going to not love you.”

“When did I say anything about roots?”

I wince at my mistake. “A long time ago. I don’t remember. Anyways, I’m not trying to hurt you with what I’m saying.”

“But what are you saying?”

I swallow. “That conversation we’ve needed to have for years…can you let it be one-sided for a minute? I need to sort of spit this out all at once.”

“I’ll give it my best effort.”

I chuckle at that. It’ll be a miracle if he lets me get all the way through without interruption, but I need to say it. I need to say it all.

“Tommy asked me the other day what was keeping me from forgiving you. See, he seems to think that if I let go of all this stuff between us, I’ll have more room for love. But I don’t know if I believe that. I mean, I fell in love with him, after all, and I love you too, even after everything. Even when…”

I gather my courage and finish the sentence. “Christ, Brad, even that night, that night I walked in on you with someone else, leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. As pissed as I was, as hurt as I was, the entire time I was packing my bags all I could think about was how much I loved you and how much I didn’t want to leave. But you broke me, Brad. That pain was… indescribable. You were the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, you were the one, Brad, the _one_.”

“I know, and you were—”

“No,” I interrupt him. “Let me finish.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, and I know that he’s literally biting down on his tongue to get himself to shut up.

“You destroyed me. And that’s not me being melodramatic. After that I couldn’t hope, I couldn’t trust, I couldn’t let people in. I built walls, Brad, fucking _walls_ , and if you thought it was hard to convince me before all this went down that I was loved, you should have seen me in the months after. It was more than just being cautious, I was afraid. And so angry. God, I was angry. I’m surprised I have any friends left.”

“Adam, please… I’m so sorry. Just let me—”

“No. You’re right. You can’t apologize anymore. And you shouldn’t have to.” I draw in a breath and continue. “You know why we’re still friends, Brad? Do you know why we were able to go on being friends after you got out of rehab?”

“Why?” he asks, voice small.

“Because no matter how much we hurt each other, we love each other enough to make up for it,” I say, and Jesus Christ, the tears are pouring out now, mixing hot with the cool drops falling from the sky. “And that’s the thing. You may have hurt me so much that it changed the very core of me, but you hurt me so deeply because I loved you so deeply. You taught me what love is, Brad. And you taught me that it’s the most precious thing in the world and that once you have it, you can’t lose it. You can’t let go of it. You’ve got to fight for it. And that’s why I could see the love in Tommy. That’s why, even though I was afraid of it because of you, I also embraced it because of you. I want to hold onto what Tommy and I have forever. I want to fight for it and protect it and keep it in every way I can, and I owe that to you. And I’m grateful for that.”

I lick my lips, salty and sweet. “You know how I answered Tommy the other day? I told him I was scared at what I’d find if I let go of that anger inside me. I’m afraid of what else is in there. But that’s not your fault. And I don’t think Tommy’s right, either, about having more room for love.”

“No?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head against the stage floor. “I think between you and now Tommy, I’m as full of love as I could ever be.”

“Then what would you be making more room for, if not for love?”

I feel my mouth curve at the corners. “Courage, I think. Once I let this go, fear can’t hold me back.”

“So you’re going to let it go?” he asks, voice excited, hopeful.

“I want to, Brad. I really want to.”

“But…?”

I swallow. “But I don’t want to forgive you because I feel I should for Tommy or…” I stop, thinking of the cars colliding tonight. “…Or for any other reason.”

“I see.”

“No, you’re misunderstanding.”

“What am I misunderstanding?” he snaps. “You can’t forgive me, you’ve made that clear enough.”

“I can’t forgive you because I’m holding onto anger, Brad, but what you don’t understand is that not all of it is anger at _you_. See…I need forgiveness too.”

“What could you possibly need forgiveness for?” Brad asks. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I did,” I argue. “God, Brad. I did. I walked away – hell, I _ran_ away, when I should have been there for you. I should have been the one to take you to rehab, I should have been visiting every time they allowed it, I should have been the one to take you home, to take care of you, to help and get you back to being yourself. Instead I packed up and left you alone when you needed me most.”

“Adam, you walked in on me with another guy in _our bed_ , so coked out I didn’t even have the presence of mind to understand that you’d left until I woke up in a puddle of my own vomit.”

“That’s another thing. I let you get that way. I should have paid attention. I should have caught it and I should have been there for you.” Shit. My voice is so tight that it’s painful inside my throat. “I knew you were pulling away from me, I knew you were being secretive, but I just let it happen instead of fighting it. Then I didn’t help you get better. I just left. I broke my end of the deal.”

“And who would blame you?”

“I can’t forgive myself for it, Brad. I…” I clear my throat in vain. “There was a car coming straight toward you and I didn’t push you out of the way.”

“God, Adam, I don’t even know what that fucking means, but please don’t tear yourself up for what you did. I’m glad you got out. I’m glad you left.” I hear sniffling on the other end of the line. “You leaving was what made me want to sober up. Losing you was why I snapped out of it. So…I guess in this strange way I’m grateful you left, too.” He pauses again. “God, what a fucked up pair we are.”

I laugh a little because despite the tears pouring from my eyes, I have to agree.

“Brad,” I say after the pause, and my voice cracks on his name. “I want you to know, I don’t regret falling in love with you, and I don’t regret the pain. Love and that horrible pain and all they taught me were… they were gifts, really, and I can’t regret either. Leaving… leaving is what I regret.”

Brad says nothing for a whole minute as I listen to his breathing and the rain. Then he whispers, “I’m glad you don’t regret loving me.”

“Never.”

“I don’t know how to forgive you for leaving when I never blamed you for it. I never held it against you.” I hear him shift in the chair. “But if you want my forgiveness for it, you have it.”

His words should mean absolution, but they’re just words to me. Maybe, if I had time to let them sink into my bones, I would feel the peace and relief that should come with them, but not today. Regardless, his words are not insignificant. I hold them close to me, clinging to them for the promise and hope contained within them.

We both sit in silence for a minute, listening to the other breathe. Then Brad says, “Think he’s the one?”

I can’t control the big stupid grin that spreads across my face. “Yeah, I think he might be.”

“Then I’m happy for you. Maybe not down to the soul happy, but I’ll get there.”

I nod, but now that I’ve said most of what I have to say, the one thing that remains becomes urgent. “Brad, do me a favor?”

“Yeah.”

“Let Cassidy take care of you.”

Brad snorts. “What? Why?”

“Because I know you and…” I wonder how to phrase what I’m going to say. “If you need someone to comfort you and I’m not around, let him. He’s a good guy. Maybe a little cocky and sometimes thick but still, a good guy. And please… don’t ever for a minute forget how much I love you.”

“Fuck, Adam, between Tommy and this tour ending, you’re really laying it all bare, aren’t you?”

“Promise me, Brad.”

“I promise, and I love you too.”

Suddenly there’s the warmth of someone’s touch on my face, and I open my eyes to see Tommy kneeling over me, smiling. His hair’s soaked, and I wonder how long he’d listened in before he let me know he was there.

“Brad, I need to go.”

“The boy there?”

I reach up and slide my fingers through Tommy’s hair. “Yeah. Thanks, Brad. For hearing me out and…everything. Be good to yourself, okay?”

“Of course, babe. I love me, how could I not?”

I laugh. “I love you.”

“Love you too. Tell Tommy hello, congratulations on stealing such a wonderful man’s heart, and that I _probably_ won’t make a voodoo doll in his likeness.”

I end the call laughing and pull Tommy’s mouth to mine. His kiss is eager, aggressive, forcing my mouth open with his tongue and taking my breath. He tastes like rain and whiskey and smells like leather and earth. It’s intoxicating. By the time he pulls away, I’m panting and hard and throbbing underneath him.

I reach to my side for my phone and send Neil a quick text. _Keep everyone off the stage for the next half hour._

Within seconds, an answering text arrives. _Ok but I don’t want to know anything and you SO owe me._

“I asked for the rain,” I say to Tommy, and he nods as if that explains everything. “Needed to see you wet. Needed to be in the rain with you.”

“The Universe has been very obliging lately,” Tommy says and nips at the corner of my mouth. “How long do we have?”

“A half hour.”

“Then let’s not waste it.”

Ten minutes later, we’re both naked and Tommy’s riding me hard, head thrown back in bliss, rain running down his skin, mouth curved in the shape of a moan. He’s amazing, he’s magical, and I’m so lost in the slick heat of him and in the completeness that I feel with him and everything else that I find myself thanking whatever it is that sent the rain. I thank whatever it is that gave me more time. I thank whatever it is that gave me Tommy.

 

*

 

The encore’s been over for fifteen minutes. I’m staring not at my reflection in the mirror, but Tommy’s, and he’s behind me, arms wrapping around my chest, head leaning against my shoulder. We look kind of beautiful like this. Calm. Satisfied. Fulfilled. Even in the stale light of the makeup mirror, we sort of glow.

We’re ready to go. Despite all of our vows to not get teary after the Un-Last Concert, on my cue as the boss, we all let loose with hugs and tears and goodbyes as soon as we were off stage tonight. All of it was followed by promises to see each other at the cabin and to have a great night. Tommy and I promised too, though we knew we’d never make it to the party.

Tommy sent his guitars along with Monte, saying that I hadn’t left him any room in our car because of all my luggage, but it was actually his equivalent of a will. The only things of any value in Tommy’s life, sentimental or otherwise, are all in Monte’s car. Everything I own will be in our car with us. None of it is particularly important. Neil has my mother’s letter, Brad has copies of the pictures that will burn, and one of Tommy’s guitar cases was stuffed with the lyrics I’ve been writing for my next album. They’ll serve Monte well.

No, the only thing of any value in that car tonight will be Tommy.

“I think that was the best I’ve heard you sing.”

I agree and nod at him in the mirror. It was truly my best performance. _Our_ best performance. Tommy and I were perfectly in sync, my voice was on fire because of all the singing I’d done with him earlier, and I have a feeling nothing we did on stage came off as merely “fanservice” tonight.

“I sang for you,” I tell him, and then I pull him close. We cling to each other. There are no tears, not this time. Somehow anger at what we’re losing has given way to thankfulness that we had any time together at all. It’s a weird sort of peace, a strange indifference to the finality of it all, as if in surrendering we still haven’t lost. It’s freeing, like being swept up by the tide.

We hold each other for a few long minutes, and then, with a silent agreement, we both turn to go.

We walk in silence through the venue to the parking garage, where the SUV sits waiting. Tommy and I slide into our seats and I start the car and pull out of the parking garage slowly. I follow the now familiar route out of Puyallup, and in too short of a time, the city becomes merely a cloud of hazy lights behind us. The rain is coming down hard, harder than ever, though it had held off during the concert. The windshield wipers cut through the thick splatters on the glass with a rhythmic swoosh. In the darkness of the country road, Tommy and I are the only two people are earth. The only two beating hearts, the only two souls. Tommy reaches over and rests his hand on top of mine on the console.

“If we’d had another day…”

“Adam, please don’t.”

“I’m not suggesting it,” I say gently. “I’m just curious. If we’d had another day, a little more time, what would you want to do with me?”

“Just another day? Cause if we had a lifetime, I know what I’d want.”

I turn my head slightly, risking a glance at him even though it’s pitch black and rainy outside the windows. “Marriage? Children?”

“Yeah, even though babies scare me.”

I laugh at that. “Me too. They’re terrifying.” I run my thumb over the peaks and valleys of his knuckles. “But if we had just one more day?”

Tommy leans his head to one side, thinking. “Wake up with you. We never got that.”

“Yeah, that would have been nice,” I say, squeezing his hand. “Lazy morning sex.”

“Yeah, and a hot shower after.”

“Cooking breakfast together, or any meal together for that matter.”

“Lying around in sweats watching reruns or bad movies all day.”

“Yeah,” I say, and the beginning of a sob works its way into my throat. “That would have been…”

“Perfect.”

I nod and use almost every ounce of strength I have left in me to keep my tears at bay. “Yeah.”

Outside my window, dark, shapeless masses loom to my left. The mountains. We’re close. Not much more time.

“Slow dancing.”

“What?” Tommy asks and sits up in his seat, giving me his full attention.

“A slow dance would have been nice.”

The sign for Mt. Sterling looms ahead and I slow down, taking the turn at a crawl.

“Pull over,” Tommy orders.

“What? Tommy, if I stop this car—”

“You’ll be able to go through with this. I know you will, Adam. Because I’ll be able to, and you won’t want me to be alone.” His brown eyes are pleading, filled with an almost impossible amount of love and determination. “Pull over.”

There’s a gravel shoulder as the hill begins its climb, the one I pulled into just last night, and I steer into it and push the SUV into park. He reaches back into the seat behind me and searches in one of my duffel bags until he pulls out my iPod.

“We won’t ever wake up together, or cook a meal together, or spend an entire day watching TV, but we have time for a dance,” he explains with a shy smile, and risks a fleeting glance straight into my eyes. I see his childlike wonder, the excitement and the hopefulness, and marvel at how I could have ever lived a day without such a beautiful sight.

He looks back down, searching through my countless songs to find one he likes, and with a jerk of his head, beckons me to climb out into the night with him. Taking my hand as he rounds the car, he leads me straight into the middle of the road, on top of the double yellow line. The rain falls all around us, drenching us, but I’m warm as can be as he pulls me into his arms. He reaches up, pressing an earbud into one of my ears, then one of his, and switches on the song. I immediately recognize the voice, even if I can’t place it.

“Who is this?” I ask as he wraps himself around me and leans his head against my chest.

“Nick Cave, baby. Straight to You. I put this on here ages ago for you.” He raises his head and pecks me sweetly on the lips. “Dance with me.”

I hate that I haven’t heard the song before, but like so many things, there’s nothing I can do about it now but enjoy what I’ve got left. I close my eyes and let Tommy tuck his head under my chin, and we sway in the middle of the road amidst the downpour.

The song is gorgeous, and its words are not lost on me. It’s full of fading dreams, full of promises, and full of hope. It stretches on like the feeling radiating between Tommy and me, eternal and true. We move to the beat of the music, to the steady drumming of our hearts, to the rhythm of the falling rain. After a while, the words become my words, the promises my promises, and the song becomes merely the language of my soul. Without realizing I’m doing it, I start to sing on the last verse.

“I’ll run, babe, I’ll come running…straight to you…for I am captured…straight to you…for I am captured one more time…”

Tommy’s humming along, voice catching on every other syllable, and warm wetness soaks through my shirt. I slide a hand down his cheek until I find his chin and pull him up, kissing each hot tear away before touching my lips to his. We kiss until the last notes die out, leaving us with nothing but our hearts and the rain for music.

Pulling away is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. “Thank you for the dance, Tommy Joe. Thanks for everything you’ve given me.”

He thanks me in kind, and I can’t even begin to count all the gifts he’s given me, or the things I’ve given him. My heart, my love, my life…

“It’s time, Adam,” he says, and I know he’s right. Fate is demanding and the end is impatient.

I nod and we walk back to the SUV, climbing in slowly. I put the SUV in drive and set my foot on the gas. The car creeps up the hill and I savor each second of its climb. Tommy’s hand is in mine. His pulse is quick but his grip isn’t hard. This time we’re really ready for this. This time we’ve had our dance. This time we’ll go together. With Tommy next to me, the call of death is meaningless, the beckoning grave holds no power. We are far more infinite. We are never-ending. We are always.

The car reaches the top of the hill, and the curve in the road awaits. I breathe in and feel the life within myself – my heart beating, my lungs expanding, my blood running – and know that this, truly, is the last time I will.

Tommy looks over at me as I guide the car around the bend. He’s so beautiful, so perfect, so good. And somehow, he’s mine, and I’m so lucky that he chose me. His pretty mouth moves, and I hear him whisper sweetly, “I love you, Adam.”

There are bright lights up ahead. Tires screech, a car careens out of control towards ours. I have just enough time to look over at Tommy and tell him that I love him too before my world goes black.

 

*

 

There are no sirens, no voices, no other souls on the road that could have helped. We are alone and we are dying.

But somehow, through the darkness and the pain, I feel Tommy’s hand slip into mine. His touch assures me that he’s there, that we’re still together, and it is the only reason I am able to give myself up. I go gently into the night.

 

*

 

 _I’m falling._

 _I fall and fall. I fall into darkness, into silence. The fall is slow, unhurried, controlled and measured. And I know now that I’m not really falling at all. I’m drifting. Floating. Suspended. Held up yet held down, and I let it take me._

 _Then the memories come. My greatest hits. My favorite things. I see my mother. I see my father. I see Neil. I see Brad smiling, Monte hugging his children, my dancers laughing. I see nameless faces in huge crowds; I hear the clattering of drumstick, the hum of feedback from monitors, the scratch of guitar strings. I feel the microphone in my hands and the wonderful, used feeling of my warm vocal cords._

 _And then I see Tommy. Beautiful, loving Tommy. Tommy as he plays his guitar for me and I lift my voice along with the melody. Tommy as rain falls from his hair. Tommy as he folds himself into me and we dance. I see his smile, I hear him laugh. I feel the press of his hand in mine, the tingle of his lips on my skin, but it’s not just a memory._

 _Tommy’s here with me. Our hands are joined and we look out into the beyond. There are no pearly gates, no angels, no light, but there is a pull, a strong desire to keep moving, and the feeling that we cannot remain where we are._

 _“What now?” I ask him._

 _“We go on,” Tommy says in return._

 _“Together?” I ask._

 _“Always,” comes Tommy’s reply, and together, we begin to walk._

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the gorgeous BEFORE I FALL by Lauren Oliver. Although I could never dream to write a work as haunting and brilliant as hers, I hope my twist on the concept is a good homage to it.


End file.
